A Good Run of Bad Luck
by Nina La Vough
Summary: It's another AU for Jordan and Woody...this time on a riverboat winding down the Mississippi. This time Nina is JMKW, Bourbon, and NCCJFAN
1. The Night of the Delta Belle

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, but if we did they'd have their afternoon milk and cookies taken away and have to stand in the corner for being bad.**

**Author's Note: Nina would like to welcome Bourbon to the car pool! We hope you enjoy her spin on where Nina takes us. **

**...this was also one of those situations where life got in the way of writing. We started on this many months before the craziness of the final half of the season happened. Never to let _details_ stand in the way of story-telling, Nina chose to stick her fingers in her ears and ignore a few major canon plot twists. Kind of think of this as if life for these characters stagnated post Death Poll. To try and find logic in it any other way would be fruitless. (Kind of like canon come to think of it.) **

**Enjoy.**

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**Chapter 1 **

**The Night of the Delta Belle **

Just when she thought her life couldn't get campier...it did. She tried every excuse under the sun...and even made up of a few, but it didn't help. She knew was screwed the second Garret said: _"It's not like you have anything better to do...and besides it just might be fun."_

Who the hell was he kidding? Balancing your checkbook was fun. Cleaning your refrigerator was fun...spending her nights alone watching _Ally McBeal_ reruns and eating chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream was... _fun._

Dressing up like an extra from Barbeque-at-Twelve-Oaks scene from _Gone with the Wind_ and taking part in one of those ridiculously inane murder mystery parties was not fun. It was just plain embarrassing.

Her arguments fell on deaf ears.

"Jordan, this fundraiser is for a good cause. Lily's been talking about it for weeks. I guess Brandau's on the committee this year.

"And?" Jordan asked wryly.

"She's blackmailing me, so I'm blackmailing you."

"I'm glad you're not looking at this selfishly."

"It's not going to be that bad Jordan..."

Garret cleared his throat when Jordan cut him The Look. "Okay, you're right. It's probably going to be one of the most painful evenings either of us has had the pleasure of living through."

"But," he sighed. "It's important to Lily and she wants to have some familiar faces there. Besides it's not that different than the cold case nights your father used to have."

Jordan pestered a hangnail on her thumb with her forefinger. From the time she was twelve she'd been reenacting some crime with her father. It was a game that in later years turned into a hobby and after an ice storm one year it turned into an annual brain teasing social event.

It had been years since they'd all been together with a large supply of food and drink...and a dusty, old file between them.

"Dad never made us dress up," Jordan pouted.

"This 'Night on the Delta Belle' cruise has been going on for years."

"_Night of the Delta Belle_! God, this gets better and better every second. Is Samuel Clemmons the master of ceremonies?"

"It wouldn't surprise me, but no. As I was saying, they outfit one of the Boston Harbor dinner cruisers like its some kind of Mississippi paddle wheeler. Then a group of charitably minded passengers dress in period New Orleans dress and spend the evening eating Bananas Foster and Oysters on the Half Shell while they gamble away a few grand all in the name of the cause."

Save the Children...Feed the Whales. She heard Lily mention what they were fundraising for but for the life of her Jordan couldn't remember. All Jordan knew was for every dollar one of these things raised, ninety-nine cents of it want to make sure the "_charitably minded"_ patrons had a helluva good time to go along with that warm-and- fuzzy-tax-free-feeling they got for their generosity. She'd just as soon write a check.

"You sound like you've done one of these things before."

"Maggie dragged me to one of these a few years back."

"Good. Take her."

Garret didn't bite. "Lily's already reserved our table. Bug and Nigel have already chipped in their ticket price. Seely dropped his off this morning...along with Woody and Lu's.

"Woody and Lu," Jordan chirped, braver then she thought.

"They'll be more. Lily has hit up half the staff and half the department. She wants to make sure it's a sell out."

"Peachy. Who do I make the check out to?"

"Don't worry about it," Garret said with a wave of the hand. "I have you covered and Lily is picking up your costume..."

"You were pretty sure you could talk me into this."

"I wasn't going to give you any other choice," Garret smiled. "We're meeting at the pier at sunset. I'll have Hoyt send around a black and white if you're late."

"Oh, I'm sure Woody will be too busy to worry about me."

* * *

Jordan stood on the curb next to her El Camino with her hands on her hips trying to figure out how the hell she got into this mess. 

That little voice in her head screamed out the answer. _"It's because you have no life..."_

A dinner with friends was one thing...but this was verging on going above and beyond.

Jordan didn't want to hurt Lily's feelings when she tried on the dress. The top was too tight and the skirt was too long, but there was no way Jordan was going to wear the hoop. Of course, Lily had to go and point out that it would be a daunting task to pin up the couple hundred yards that made up the skirts hem.

If she hadn't of added puppy dog eyes, Jordan might still be sitting comfortably in her apartment, tacking a new hem, and blissfully missing the entire evening. No. Lily convinced Jordan that maybe she should suck it up and wear the hoop.

It was amazing that the women back in the day could hide a family of six under their skirts yet couldn't spare enough material to make a descent size wash cloth for the top of the dress. The cut of this particular costume shop version made her 34Cs look like an antebellum Pamela Anderson wannabe with a big red flower stuck in her cleavage...as if it needed anymore attention

Jordan opted to add her own accessories and added her decidedly modern jean jacket. The year 2006 meets 1846. At least if she fell out nobody would notice.

Now, as the sun was beginning to set, she stood there looking like a red ,white, and denim sprinkled Barbie birthday cake, trying to figure out how to fit in her car.

"This is totally ridiculous," she swore lifting her shirts.

A wino, that happened to be holding up the wall of the neighboring building, let out a whistle and a crudely suggestive 'fiddle-deedee'. Jordan told him to stuff it and untied the hoops and let them drop to the pavement. She kicked the beribboned monstrosity to the side before she gathered it up and tossed in the bed of the Camino. If it blew out on the way to the pier her heart wouldn't be very broken.

Fishing her keys out of her jacket pocket, Jordan stuffed what was left of her skirts into the car and drove to the water front.

* * *

The hi-speed catamaran that was docked at the pier looked nothing like an old time paddle-wheeler but it was a swanky venue that Jordan had secretly wanted to visit for a while. She had been on dinner cruises before. In fact, JD had surprised her by taking her to a wine tasting on one of the smaller vessels last fall. But this particular boat one dwarfed everything else in sight. So did the parade of coition dresses going on board. 

"There's one concession...Personal space won't be an issue..." she muttered to herself.

It wasn't hard to pick out Nigel's tall lanky frame in the parking lot. He looked like a cross between Evil Knievel and Brett Maverick when he climbed off his bike and pulled his helmet off his head. The gold brocade vest and frockcoat oddly matched the knee high biker boats that he was passing (and very convincingly too, she thought) off as riding boots. It wasn't a big surprise that he could make the Southern Gentleman look work to a T. He tapped on her window with a cocky smile.

"You made it. Dr.M. was taking bets you'd be a no show," Nigel said opened the door.

"And I'm sure you had a buck or two down on the bet yourself."

"Five, but who's counting...What is this?" Nigel asked, pointing at Jordan's hoop in the bed of the El Camino.

"Damn. It didn't blow out."

"I gather that was the plan," he said cautiously lifting it up.

In Nigel's hands the cage of hoop wire, bone casting, grosgrain ribbon and lace looked like some kind of flocked iron maiden. Jordan bit back a groan and said, "Do me a favor. Cover me while I strap myself back into this thing."

Nigel cocked an eyebrow when Jordan lifted her skirts and stepped into the hoop. Her modesty wasn't in question because underneath the tiered organza Nigel noticed she was wearing...

"Soapsuds and duckies!"

Jordan's head snapped up at Nigel's comment. _'Okay,'_ she thought to herself. It was a little childish, but if she was home, where she wanted to be...instead of making a fool out of herself in the name of friendship...she'd be comfortably curled up on her couch..._wearing_ her duckie pajama pants.

"I'm wearing a rented hoop, a rented dress and even a rented hair snood. I draw the line at wearing rented underwear." She said thinking about the ankle length bloomers she left in the rental bag in her apartment. Once the hoop was tied she lowered the skirts and "fluffed" them around her.

'_Fluffing! I'm freaking fluffing for goodness sake!'_ Jordan groaned. "I had better get some good Do-Bee points for this..." she said.

"Your presence will be much appreciated darling," Nigel chuckled. "I'm very sure of it. Now turn around and let me look..."

Jordan dutifully spun around.

"Without the jacket."

"Wha?" There was no way Jordan was going to take off her jean jacket. Wearing a hoop was one thing. Showing the chest off to the world is something totally different.

"Nigel!"

Jordan didn't need to turn around to recognize Woody's chuckle.

Nigel looked over Jordan shoulder and cocked his head in a courtly bow. "Woodrow. Detective Simmons. May I say you are looking enchanting this evening? "

"Thank you Nigel and please...call me Lu."

Nigel smoothly stepped around Jordan and took Lu's outstretched hand. "I don't mind if I do," he smiled and in the spirit of the character he was portraying, he lifted Lu's fingerless-gloved hand to his lips. "Enchanté"

Jordan looked over her shoulder and wished she hadn't. To add insult to the injury of dressing like some over grown Bo Peep, the ever elegantly feminine Tallulah Simmons was dressed like a Confederate foot soldier.

_Enchanting, my ass...and totally unfair. I want pants. _

While Jordan was busy rolling her eyes at Nigel and Lu she didn't notice Woody taking in every detail from the thing that looked like a black-net fruit bag holding her hair back layers of polka-dotted material that made up the wide skirt. Like a kilt...he couldn't help but wonder what she had underneath that skirt.

She looked silly...but endearingly so. He really couldn't throw stones. His idea of going as a Pinkerton Detective seemed clever when he picked it out a week ago, but now that it was on he felt...ridiculous.

"Jordan. Look at you." he smiled.

"Yep." Jordan said she rocking on her heels. The evening hadn't even started and it was the most painful night of her life. Too bad Woody looked like he was already having a good time.

The long brown broadcloth coat was nothing special and the bowler hat was verging on goofy. And his smile was completely...farm boy. _That sweet country innocence; those sparkling blue eyes._ For one brief moment she saw the old Woody standing there. The one she met in the bank lobby so many years ago.

"What we do for the cause, huh?"

"Yeah," Woody said. "I was telling Lu about the life-size 'Clue' games you and Max used to have..."

"Yes, Jordan," Lu piped in. "Woody went on forever about the Boston strangler copycat case you all solved one year. I wish I were here then. It sounds like it was a very interesting evening."

"Very," Nigel said tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. "One year I was the Milwaukee bondage killer...and the year before that the ice cream rapist of '77. I'd love to discuss them with you over a drink before tonight's festivities begin."

Before Woody could do anything but rub the back of his neck, Lu and Nigel walked toward the gangplank. Jordan couldn't help but notice how the grey flannel pants outlined Lu shapely ass to perfection. She also couldn't help but notice Woody noticing it too. Maybe Nigel was right. The coat had to go.

_There's only one way to fight fire Cavanaugh..._

Deftly, Jordan unbuttoned it and tossed in the front seat of her car. Locking it, she palmed her keys. "Shall we?"

Woody was no longer thinking about what an odd...yet, eerily attractive...couple Nigel and Lu would make. He wasn't even imagining what she was, or was not, wearing under her skirts anymore.

_Hot damn…_

* * *

"_Noir comme le Diable; Fort comme la Mort; Doux comme l'Amour; Et chaud comme l'Enfer_..." 

Nigel was a natural story teller. His spin could have a crowd of people mesmerized in seconds. Including the people he saw every day.

So it was later that evening, while they all stood at the stern of the boat watching the magnificent skyline of Boston drift by.

Down below, a room full of costumed guests was being entertained by a troop of actors who were leading the Murder Mystery aspect of the evening (Dash and Percival Robber, owners of the Robber Rubber Chicken Company ,makers of fine novelty goods, had been murdered on board the Delta Belle.) It was a far cry from one of Jordan's father's parties. Garret was the first to slip away. Jordan quickly followed. Then Lily, Bug, Seely, Lu, and Nigel all trickled out for some air. Woody tried to hang...but even a Pinkerton man wouldn't have trouble with a case where one of the players was named _Mr. Von Killdher._

Lu held her hand up. "Black as the Devil; Strong as the Death; Soft as love; And hot as...l'Enfer?"

"Hell..." Seely translated. "Like where we are now."

Jordan had to smile. Seely looked more uncomfortable than she was. Lily was kind enough to pick up his costume too. And if the ruffled shirt, bright red vest, and enough bling on his neckerchief's stick pin to light up Boston Harbor were any indication, Lily had a good laugh picking it out.

"Yes, as I was saying..." Nigel said with a wide smile. "It was the summer of 1853. They called him The Gentleman and he liked is coffee strong and black. He made his living by grifting on board the many paddleboats that sailed up and down the Mississippi River. That was until he stumbled on one particular boat he decided to hang his hat...You see, it was owned by a beautiful, yet mysterious woman that captured his fickle attention."

"A female boat owner in 1853?" Bug drawled. "I don't think so. Society would have shunned her. Nobody would have sailed with her and she would have been destitute. A female captain would never make it."

"This is my story and I'll tell it the way I want to Buggles and if you don't like it you can go back downstairs and help Inspector McClueblind figure out who "killed" the lovely Miss Body. Our lovely boat owner wasn't a woman to be trifled with. She had a dark secret that only those close to her knew. Besides she surrounded herself with a crusty captain and trusted engineer."

"Her own floating harem...lucky girl." Lily laughed. A few too many mint juleps and not enough smothered okra and tomatoes made her cheeks quite rosy under her orange ostrich feather tiara.

Jordan, herself, was listening with half an ear to Nigel's story. Maybe it was one of the oysters she ate, but the breeze was soft and the lights on the water tranquil. She closed her eyes and began to drift to the sound of Nigel's voice.

"No sooner did our hero set up his business on board the riverboat, the first young woman disappeared off the pier in Natchez..."


	2. The Delta Marker

**Chapter Two**

_**The Delta Marker**_

It was the splash that woke everyone up.

Now there are splashes to be heard up and down the Mississippi River. Tree branches and logs falling into the river. Boats launching. Gators maneuvering in for a kill.

But when a body breaks the muddy water – that kind of splash is altogether different. A hollow, ringing noise fills the air … especially when _someone else_ is throwing the body into the river, trying not to make a sound.

It was _that_ clamor that woke riverboat owner Jordan Cavanaugh from a sound sleep. Startled and fearing it might have been one of her own passengers, she sat up and grabbed her robe, throwing it on and heading for the narrow hallway at the same time. She hurried past the other staff quarters and down the narrow flight of stairs, rushing over to the side of her boat.

A crowd had already gathered on the docks. _Guess the splash woke more than just me…_ she thought, trying to gauge where it came from and more particularly whose boat might be involved. "Garret…" she called to her boat pilot who had also come down to see what the commotion was about, "Do you have any idea what happened?"

"Not yet. But I will." Garret tugged on his captain's hat and disappeared into the crowd. Jordan leaned over the rail of the _Delta Marker, _desperately trying to see what was happening in the crowd.

Praying it didn't involve anyone from her boat. If her boat, its passengers, or her staff were involved in any way…things wouldn't go well for her. Most people were suspicious of a female riverboat owner to begin with. They anticipated trouble because simply because she was a woman. And women obviously didn't know anything about riverboats, or making money, or running a business.

They always seemed to avoid facing the fact that for the last three years the _Delta Marker_ had shown a substantial profit as well as near perfect runs from Missouri to New Orleans. _No…the only thing they know is that I have breasts and the ability to reproduce,_ she mused to herself, still waiting on Garret to come back. _Like having a womb robs me of the ability to think_.

And thinking…more specifically, the ability to think quickly… was a skill that Jordan had to learn early in life. Orphaned at a young age, the daughter of a gambler and bar owner, Jordan had to learn fast, hard lessons that a typical ten-year old girl shouldn't have to know until she is much older. Fortunately, at the time, one of her father's long-time gambling buddies had come forward and agreed to take the young, parentless girl and be her legal guardian.

Jim, or rather Gentleman Jim, as he was known in the gambling circuit, took Jordan in and raised her in a rather untraditional manner. Through a series of gambling debts Jordan was never able to untangle, Jim found himself in possession of a riverboat. Gambling markers, or debts, were seen as serious breeches of promise. Jim got into a two-day poker tournament with a riverboat owner. At the end of the two days, the riverboat owner was out of a job and Gentleman Jim now owned the _Delta Belle_.

So much of young Jordan's childhood was spent on a boat, traveling the Mississippi…a much better education than sitting in a hot, one-room schoolhouse studying the _BlueBack Speller_. "On the river, you can learn many things," Jim had told her. "You learn to study people and how they react, their moods, what makes them act the way they do. I don't have any children of my own, Jordan. So one day, this boat will be yours. Don't fritter it away by marrying some chuckle-headed weasel that won't allow you to think for yourself."

Jordan listened to Jim and learned at his knee. She already knew how to read and write, of course. But Jim taught her another skill: How to read cards. Jordan learned to seemingly innocently stand behind the player across from Jim and know if the other player had a winning or a losing hand. She and Jim had developed a series of elaborate, yet subtle, signals that would let her guardian know how his opponent's cards were stacked.

No one ever guessed that a young girl was tipping a poker game.

And it worked. Until one night when Jordan was about sixteen. Jim had sponsored an invitation-only, high stakes poker tournament aboard the _Delta Belle_. As usual, Jordan found her spot across the room behind the player. The game was going well, until for some reason, Jim's opponent figured out what Jordan was doing and became enraged.

Of course, Jim denied the cheating. Up, down, and sideways, he denied it. His opponent challenged him to prove his good faith. "Fine!" Jim had exclaimed. "I will win this next hand. And if I do, I get that matched set of horses that pulled your carriage to the dock."

"Good enough," his opponent had said. "But if I win, what do I get?"

Jim had looked around then. The boat had become his main source of livelihood. He couldn't wager the boat on a game he wasn't sure to win. "Jordan," he said suddenly. "If I lose, you get Jordan. For one night."

Jim lost.

And in so many ways, Jordan lost even more. Despite her begging and her pleas, the man had carried her off to his room on the boat and forced her into his bed. Jordan still shuddered when she remembered the pain and trauma of that night…a night that still haunted her in her dreams. It had been her first time with a man…and she had vowed it would be her last.

Even more than the physical trauma to her body, her ability to trust had also been shattered that day. She no longer trusted Jim or any of the crew, who did nothing to help her out of the situation. She didn't trust anyone.

So it mattered little to her in the following weeks that Jim contracted Yellow Fever and died. At least that's what the doctor had said. The crew said he poisoned himself with alcohol. Jim drank nearly nonstop since he had used Jordan as a gambling marker.

Jordan had a grimmer view of the subject. She sincerely hoped that Satan himself had made a wager with Jim for his soul and Satan won the game. When Jim was buried in the parish cemetery in New Orleans, Jordan didn't bat an eye or shed a tear.

Instead, she had gone back to the _Delta Belle_ and claimed it as her own. True to his word, Jim had left it to her in his will. The first thing Jordan did was repaint the name of the boat, rechristening her to the _Delta Marker_. If Jordan had to be used to repay a gambling debt as a gambling marker, she wanted a constant reminder never to trust anyone again. Changing the name was her first order of business.

The second one was to fire the crew she couldn't trust and start all over.

She hired riverboat pilot Garret Macy away from the _Delta Swan_. He was an older man, but quiet and solid as a rock. In the years he had served her, Garret had become her friend and confidant, almost the father-figure she so desperately missed in her life. Rumor had it that lately Garret was having a battle with the whiskey bottle. Jordan had discreetly inquired about it, but no liquor had turned up missing on the boat. If Garret was drinking, he was keeping it hidden and quiet.

But until she could be sure, she had covered her bases by hiring another man as assistant pilot. A man from a foreign port with a foreign name: Maheesh ….something or another. As quiet as Garret was, Maheesh worked hard to keep himself unnoticed. Most folks up and down the river assumed that he was an American Indian. He was Indian, all right, but not from a tribe. From India. Jordan had liked him from the start. Especially when he told everyone not to call him Maheesh…Bug would do just fine. It was a nickname he had picked up during his time in the Indian army, stemming from his distain of the tiny bedbugs that would infiltrate the sleeping quarters of the soldiers. The other men had learned to deal with them.

Bug would set his bedding on fire and request new blankets and sheets.

Bug, Garret, and then there was Lily. Jordan had met Lily in New Orleans, at the same church where Jim had been buried. The young woman had sung such a moving rendition of _Ava Maria_ for Jim's funeral that even Jordan found tears welling up in her eyes. Two years later, back in the same port in New Orleans, Jordan ran into Lily at the market. The two struck up a conversation and Jordan had jokingly offered Lily a job as a singer on her boat. Jordan assumed Lily would laugh it off. Instead, in a very serious tone of voice, the red head told Jordan that she would give the idea some thought.

By the time Jordan had gotten back to the _Delta Marker_, Lily was already waiting for her there, sitting on her trunk. Lily had been a part of the crew ever since. And resplendent in ostrich feathers and a black satin dress, one would think Lily had been an entertainer on a riverboat all her life instead of an innocent choir girl in New Orleans' Ninth parish.

That was her tiny, trustworthy crew…but there was someone else Jordan trusted even beyond these three individuals and that man was now heading up the gang plank to her. "Evening, love," the tall, lanky man said, his British accent still pronounced even after living in the States for nearly seventeen years. "Or should I say morning?" he continued, pulling his pocket watch out of his gold brocade vest, flipping it open, and checking the time. "It's a little late for an early bird like yourself to be up…what's all the ruckus?"

"There was this loud splash Nigel. It sounded like a body being dropped in the water…" Jordan said, pulling her robe around her a little tighter and extending her hand to him.

Nigel Townsend. The only man in Jordan's life she felt she could trust with anything and everything. It had been Nigel that found her that night after Jim's gambling partner had gotten through with her and kicked Jordan out of his room. Nigel had found her in a back hallway, crying, her fist covering her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs.

Nigel had pulled her to her feet, assuring her that he would do nothing to harm her…took her back to his room and gave Jordan her first strong drink of brandy to calm her nerves and warm her wounded soul.

And Nigel had been still doing both ever since …calming her and warming her. On the surface, Nigel was everything Jordan despised. He was a gambler…a sharp to be exact… the worst kind of gambler. The kind of gambler that preys on the inexperienced and the rich. The vulnerable. But for Nigel, it was simply a way to make a living. And he did it well.

Just as well as he took care of her that night so long ago and now. He took her hand in his and covered her cold fingers. "You need to get back inside, love. Warm up. You'll catch your death out here…"

"I will," Jordan replied, allowing him to pull her into a tight hug. "Just as soon as we find out what's going on. I need to know…the boat…"

"You worry entirely too much. I'll talk to Garret and then I'll come tell you."

Jordan shook her head. "No… besides….there's Garret now."

They both turned and watched as Garret walked up the boat's ramp to them. "Well…what was it, Gar?" Jordan whispered, alarmed at the pilot's grim expression.

"Young girl from the _Mississippi Princess_. Bound, gagged, and thrown overboard."

Jordan's face paled. "The _Mississippi Princess…_why she's docked right next to us."

"I know," Garret replied, glancing at Nigel. There was a world of meaning behind the captain's eyes and Nigel read them well.

"Do they have any idea how? Or why…." Jordan asked her voice trailing off.

"No. She was with her parents, seemingly well chaperoned. They're not sure….there will be an investigation. The parents and the boat's captain are calling in a Pinkerton detective tomorrow."

Nigel nodded. It looked as if a full-scale investigation was underway. After giving Jordan another hug, he tilted her face up to his. "Go upstairs….wait in my room and warm yourself. I'll be up in a minute…." He nudged her towards the stairs and then turned his attention back to Garret. "Pinkerton? Why Pinkerton?"

Garret shrugged, seemingly nonchalant, but Nigel sensed the tenseness between the man's shoulders. "Seems like local law enforcement isn't trusted in these parts."

Nigel nodded. "Well….this could get interesting…"

"Very. Just mind yourself and stay out of trouble. Jordan needs you," Garret concluded, walking towards the stern of the boat to see just how much the crowd had dispersed.

"I know…" Nigel replied softly. "And I need her."


	3. I Don't Trust You

**Chapter Three**

**I Don't Trust You**

She'd known it from the first moment she'd laid eyes on him. He couldn't be trusted.

"I don't like him," Jordan said shaking her head slowly. "Not one bit."

The main lounge of the _Delta Marker_ was crowded with rich passengers enjoying their cigars and whiskey and card sharps eyeing their next marks. Jordan stood with Nigel at the bar watching the stranger from some distance. He'd come on board the day before, looking every inch the Mississippi Delta gambler with his felt planter's hat and silk brocade vest. He had flashed a fat wad of cash and quickly ingratiated himself with the gambling men on board, who were all too willing to take advantage of some young dandy with too much time and money on his hands.

There had been something about him that had set her off the first moment she saw him. It could have been that cocksure grin or his self-confident swagger.

Or it could have been the way those flashing blue eyes of his seemed to see right into the heart of her.

She hadn't let any man know her that way, not in a long time.

"He's from Memphis. The youngest son of a plantation owner there," Nigel said with a hint of suspicion in his voice. "He's off the _Memphis Queen_, or so he says."

Jordan looked at him a long time through narrowed eyes. "No," she said with firmness. "He's no _Memphis Queen_ gambler. And he's certainly no Southern gentleman." She nodded her head subtly towards his feet. "Look at his shoes. They're scuffed, and the heels are worn. Those shoes belong to a man used to being on his feet all day. Those are a working man's shoes. Now look at the suit. It's brand new. All stiff and shiny. Not a loose thread or a hair out of place. It's like he's wearing a costume. Like he's play-acting. Like he's not who he says he is."

"Maybe he's one of those Pinkerton men investigating the murder of that poor girl."

The murder on board the _Mississippi Princess_ a few days earlier had rattled them all. The other boat had been docked next to theirs, and it was all a bit too close for comfort. It hadn't been the first murder on board a riverboat, not by a long shot. But the victim had always been some shiftless gambler killed in a fight over a woman or a game of cards. This was different. It was a young, pretty girl from one of the best families in St. Louis, and suddenly, no one felt safe.

They had heard that the Pinkertons would be called in. The law in some of these Mississippi port towns was as crooked as the card sharps on board. A few years earlier, a Scotsman named Allan Pinkerton had founded a private detective agency in Chicago, the first of its kind in America, and his men were chosen for their integrity, experience, and street-smarts. This stranger may have projected a self-confident air, but he still seemed wet behind the ears.

"A Pinkerton man?" Jordan snorted. "Who? _Farm boy_ over there?"

Then she narrowed her eyes again and scanned his face. No, she was wrong. He might not be some young cad from Southern royalty, but he was no naïve farm boy, either. There was a stern set to his jaw, and a hardness to those blue eyes that she hadn't noticed before. Life hadn't been easy for him. Something – or someone – had toughened him.

She had been watching him play cards from across the room all evening while she nursed her brandy. Usually, gambling on board these riverboats was limited to tournaments organized by the owners, but Jordan turned a blind eye to these small, private games.

She watched as a slow smile spread across the stranger's face and he triumphantly fanned his hand out on the table in front of him: a full house. His opponent slammed his cards down on the table with disgust, a string of curses following from his mouth.

"It seems Lady Luck has smiled on him," Nigel muttered as the stranger raked his winnings into his pile.

"Well, Lady Luck can be fickle," said Jordan. As if he had heard them, the stranger looked up with a brash grin and winked at her.

"Why, the cheeky devil…" Nigel chuckled softly and turned to Jordan. A pink heat had spread across her cheeks. "What is about him that has you so rattled, love?" he asked. She was silent, but he could see her hands tremble slightly as she raised her glass to drain the last of her brandy. "I'll have him put off the boat at the next stop," he said quietly. "In the meantime, I'll ask Bug to keep an eye on him."

He squeezed her wrist reassuringly and headed to the wheelhouse to find Bug, leaving Jordan suddenly feeling alone and vulnerable at the bar.

* * *

He had felt her eyes on him all night as she whispered with the tall man next to her.

Woody had been dispatched from the Pinkerton agency in Chicago to investigate the murder of the girl who had been taken from the _Mississippi Princess_. Good girls from fine St. Louis families didn't just disappear and end up dumped in the river like that. Woody's superiors believed her murder was linked somehow to the shady world of gambling on these riverboats, and Woody believed it, too.

Because of the skill with cards he had developed in Chicago, he had been sent undercover to pose as a gambler. He had asked questions in town before boarding the boat, and there was plenty of whispering about the mysterious, alluring woman who owned the _Delta Marker_. Jordan Cavanaugh was a fallen woman, they claimed, a "lady of the evening," whose favors could be bought – for the right price.

There was something suspicious about her and the tall, gaunt Englishman who never seemed to leave her side. What was he? Her protector? Her lover? Or something else? Woody only knew that no one could get within five feet of her as long as he was there with her.

His suspicions had immediately fallen on her as soon as he had come on board. Call it a hunch, call it a professional's instinct, but he knew she couldn't be trusted.

She was beautiful, with dark, almond-shaped eyes that gave her a slightly exotic cast. Her long chestnut hair hung in loose tendrils against her swan-like neck, which was set off by a cameo on a black velvet choker at the base of her throat. Her full bosom spilled over the top of her bodice, and the total effect was seductive. He had to remind himself that she might be a suspect in a murder.

The Englishman had left, and he watched as she glided across the room, a word here and there for her passengers until she reached his table and eased herself into the seat that had been abandoned by his opponent. He started to rise to his feet, but she stopped him with a wave of her fingers.

"Welcome aboard." She offered him her hand. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Cavanaugh."

"You have me at a disadvantage…"

"Hoyt. Woodrow Hoyt. They call me Woody back home."

She smiled slyly. "Back home in _Memphis_, right?"

So, he was being tested. He smiled back at her guilelessly and didn't bat an eye. "That's right."

"Tell me…" she started, "If you were on the _Memphis Queen_, you must know Captain Walker."

"You must be thinking of Captain _Warren_. He's the captain of the _Memphis Queen_. Captain _Walker_ was the captain of the _Gem of the Delta,_ at least until he died of diphtheria last spring."

She smiled. _Touche._

He opened his mouth to speak when another man staggered drunkenly over to their table and dropped a handful of coins and wrinkled bills on the table in front of her. His breath stank of whiskey, and he could barely stand.

"What's this?" she asked him in mild curiosity.

"Twenty dollars," he slurred. "You said I could have a turn with you when I won more money. Well, there it is. Twenty dollars."

Woody watched as Jordan tensed visibly, but she spoke to him with strained good humor.

"I believe what I said was that there wasn't any amount of money you could win to buy a night with me. Besides, in your condition, I think the spirit might be willing, but the flesh would be weak." She held up her little finger with a smile and let it droop.

The man frowned and wobbled on his weak legs. "That's twenty dollars! It's a fair bargain! Who do you think you are?"

"I'm the owner of this boat, and I can't be bought by the likes of _you_."

"Look at you putting on airs," he sputtered angrily.

Woody put a hand between them. "Move along, friend. The lady says she's not interested."

Jordan's head whipped around to face him. "I can take care of this…" she hissed.

"_Lady_? What lady?" the drunk man went on. "I don't see a lady. All I see is a fancied-up _whore_."He grabbed a handful of money in his sweaty hand and tossed it in Jordan's face.

Before Woody could react, she had pulled a tiny derringer from her garter and had it trained on his stunned, puffy face. Nigel had appeared from nowhere and had the man's arm twisted behind his back.

There was a moment while the man blinked his eyes in surprise, and then Jordan spoke in a cool calm voice. "Got him, Nigel?"

"Oh, yes…" Nigel nodded and handed him off to Bug. "See our friend off the boat."

Woody exhaled as Jordan tucked the tiny pistol back into her thigh garter. The other passengers had craned their necks to see the disturbance. "A round of drinks on the house," she called over to the bartender, and a noise of approval rippled through the crowd.

Nigel offered her his hand and kissed it with a flourish. "I believe it is time to retire for the evening, my dear. Will you join me?"

She rose from Woody's table with a nod of her head and they glided back across the lounge. She turned and looked at Woody over her shoulder as they left through the door the lead to the private cabins.

Woody watched her go and shuffled the deck of cards. His first instincts had been right. A woman like Jordan Cavanaugh could not be trusted.


	4. Rosebud

**Chapter 4**

**Rosebud**

Woody peeled the jacket off his shoulders and hung it on a hook by the door. He still had a few hours before dawn and he wanted to take a look around the boat without his shadow looking over his shoulder.

It took him two hours to shake the pilot they called 'Bug'. What he lacked in subtlety, he made up for in tenaciousness. Woody had to hide in the water closet for a good thirty minutes before the man gave up and walked away. Woody knocked around his stateroom, making it sound like Mr. Hoyt, of the Memphis Hoyts, was turning in after a long night of drinking and gambling. He smiled when he heard a satisfied grunt from the other side of his door and the familiar sound of Bug shuffling away. He took a moment to lie down. He wanted to wait until he knew everyone was to bed before he went back out.

He's been on board the boat for two days and the only things he's learned was that the liquor wasn't watered down like on most of the boats that cruised the river and the curvy red haired singer and various members of _The Marker's_ crew had an elaborate card scam running. The only thing he couldn't figure out who was the point man. They bounced around from hand to hand, table to table...and the play never seemed to fall to anyone's favor. Maybe he was mistaken...but he's seen one than one con in his life. And he could read them better than most.

He chose to ignore it. He had too. It would be something if he was here investigating a cheat. No, he was here because some up-river-blue-blood couldn't keep a short enough leash on his daughter and she ended up dead. The Pinkerton's were hired and since Woody had requested the next assignment away from the office, it was his case. Little did he know that case would be on the Mississippi. Alan Pinkerton requested discretion in respect for the family's standing in society.

A woman was dead was all that Woody cared about. He didn't give rat's ass that the manner of her death wasn't proper fodder for the drawing rooms of the city. Still, he honored his boss's request...even if it ultimately tied his hands. It wasn't easy to conduct an investigation when you had to pose as something other than a law officer.

Two weeks he'd been working and he was hitting a brick wall. He hated giving up. It went against his nature. He took the investigation broader. The _Mississippi Princess _yielded nothing. As did The _St. Louis Dawn_ and _The_ _Gem of the Delta..._

The Delta Marker was the next boat on his list. As sternwheelers went, _The Marker_ wasn't the biggest or the finest boat on the river. But she was neatly trimmed and cared for ...as river boats went. Not that he really cared. Woody hated them. He hated everything about the river with its shifting sandbars and mucky water. He hated the river about as much as he hated New Orleans.

With its rodent-sized mosquitoes and horse-sized rodents, the Mississippi Delta didn't hold the exotic promise Alan Pinkerton told him it was going to have when the job brought him to the city for the first time five years ago. Woody was man used to the four seasons of the Midwest. The only thing New Orleans had to offer, besides the sloe-eyed beauties that lined the streets of the Gaslight district, was its coffee. In New Orleans, coffee was akin to a religious experience. Woody liked his coffee thick, light and sweet. But a man couldn't live on coffee alone.

For the first stint in Louisiana, Woody stayed in The Big Easy for a year. A year too long as far as he was considered. He never quite integrated himself into the lifestyle that was as slow as the flow of the river and just as mysterious. Alan was more than happy to call in Woody's request for a field assignment. That short one year gave Woody an advantage over most of the other operators in the field. As much as he disliked the routine of the idle plantation rich and river travelers, he could carry it off without batting an eye. As Alan put it, Woody could carry off the persona of the southern gentleman well enough that he could waltz into even the most esteemed drawings rooms the southern states could offer and fit in seamlessly. To Woody's good fortune, that chameleon-like talent included acceptance in the world of the river traveler.

Woody steered clear of the wheel house. He could make out the shadow of _The Marker_'s chief pilot. Rumor had it the man was a washed up drunk when Miss Cavanaugh hired him on. Word had it that _The Marker_'s crew was a rag tag group of misfits. Who else would work for a female? Woody had mixed feelings about a female proprietress. His aunt back home was the sole owner of one of the biggest spreads in the west shore of Lake Michigan. The business was struggling when his uncle died but now flourished under her guidance. His liberal views still didn't make him trust Jordan Cavanaugh any more.

Woody stopped in front of a series of locked storeroom doors he noticed earlier in the day. Jimmying the lock on the first one was easier than he had anticipated. Miss Cavanaugh was either very trusting ...or very stupid.

He lit a match so he could see what was inside and quickly blew it out when heard feet scuffing along the rail. He slipped inside the small cleaning closet and looked out through the thin slats that made up the face of the door.

It was the pilot, Macy, apparently making his nightly rounds. The river was too difficult to navigate during the night time hours so in the evening riverboats had to bow to the whims of the river and moor for the evening.

Woody knew from his time on working near the river The Mississippi was like a beautiful woman; the surface was placid yet striking but underneath she was fickle and unpredictable at best. One moment the hull of a boat could have up to 10 feet clearance, and the next it could be boxed in by the shifting sand bars leaving it helplessly floundering.

He listened as Macy manually raised and lowered the long thin pole he used to measure the water's depth. Up, down, plunk, drip...over and over he took his measurement along the rail where Woody was hiding.

Garret stopped directly outside the door. Woody sunk deeper into the shadows of the room believing Macy must have smelled the match's sulfur. He froze as Macy reached in the pocket of his jacket. Woody's own finger inched to the firearm he had concealed under his own.

Moonlight reflected off the metal of a flask instead of a gun. Woody let out the breath he was holding. Macy looked around before he lifted the container to his mouth. So, the rumors of the man's drinking problem were true. Woody could only wonder if the rest of the stories he heard were true. They said he drove his wife and daughter away and that he paid them to stay out of his life. He couldn't make much guiding this boat back and forth along the river. Woody doubted _The_ _Delta Marker_ even broke even. Not many people wanted to travel on a boat owned by a female...that alone piloted by a drunk.

Garret slipped the flask back in his coat and continued taking his measurement around the corner. Woody let himself out and continued what would prove to be a fruitless search.

* * *

Jordan found she could get a wealth of work done this time of the morning even though the lamp light was hard on her eyes. She closed her ledgers and rubbed her hands over the back of her neck. Money was going to be tight again this quarter...but not desperate. She eyed the tired, faded crazy quilt coverlet on her old ¾ brass bed. She had her heart set on an ensemble of soft lavender bedding she saw in a shop in New Orleans last fall. It was an extravagance she could ill afford even in financially healthy days, but her cabin was to only place on _The Delta Marker_ that was hers alone. Her refuge. It was untainted by the ugliness that was her past and the single-minded prospects of her future. Outside those doors she had to be what was expected. Inside she could be herself. Less than a handful of people were privy to her inner sanctum. It was the way she lived her life. It was lonely, yes, but very necessary. Putting her pencil away, she sighed realizing her new bedding would have to wait...indefinitely.

She put the books back in the safe box and shoved them under her bed. She thumbed through her mental check list of things that needed to be done the next day. Beside the busy everyday tasks she needed to do, she needed to sit Lily down and talk to her about her signaling during the games...even if it was just for practice. She knew She, Nigel and the other involved would occasionally fleece a passenger. Jordan's learn to turn a blind eye to it. She knew it was just for fun and nine time out of ten the passenger deserved it. Still, they were getting careless.

The knock on her door was soft and familiar. She smiled. Nigel always seemed to know when she was feeling low. She didn't bother grabbing her robe and opened the door with a smile.

"Darling, there's been an...incident. You're needed in the main lounge immediately."

Jordan didn't hesitate and pulled a day dress on over her nightgown. She held her hair to the side as Nigel helped her button it up. "What happened?"

"The Thornton girl is missing..."

Jordan lips curled down into a frown. Outside of being a spoiled sixteen year old, the Thornton girl was a bit of a flirt. Jordan noticed the way she batted her eyes at most of the men aboard. It was like she was doing it just to prove the point to her father that she was a young woman...not a child. It was so noticeable that Nigel had commented about but they turned in for the evening.

"She's probably hiding in your closet Nigel, waiting for you to make all her dreams come true," she smirked.

Nigel didn't bite. At that moment, Jordan realized this wasn't a joke. This wouldn't be the first time a girl disappeared on the river. A chill went up Jordan's back thinking about the woman they found floating. This wasn't happening on _her_ boat. It couldn't be.

Nigel cupped his palms over her shoulders. "She's probably sitting somewhere right now eating...baguettes and sipping cocoa wondering if her father is sorry enough now for not buying her some...trinket at our last stop."

"I hope you're right," she smiled emotionlessly.

Jordan was hastily pinning her hair up when she entered the room. The Thornton chit's father was standing in the middle of the room. If the situation wasn't so serious Jordan would have laughed at the way he tied the sash of his paisley dressing silk robe with a neat little bow perched on his rotund middle.

"Madam, I hold you entirely accountable!" He was so outraged that, even from her distance, Jordan could feel spray of his spittle.

It was just that evening Jordan had to dodge away from Mr. Thornton's subtle little touches and leering grin. Now it looked like he was ready to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze the life out of her.

Jordan tried not to watch as the ears of the belly-bow bounce while he talked.

"I'm sure there is some logical explanation Mr. Thornton," Jordan started.

"You sound like Mr. Hoyt..." Mr. Thornton bellowed. "My daughter is not in _some other_ room. Nor did she stroll off the boat on her own. I've heard the stories. She's been taken and since this is your boat madam,...I hold you responsible!"

At the mention of Woody's name Jordan looked around the room and found him leaning against the wall just behind her. Propriety told her to keep her attention focused on Thornton. But she couldn't shake the eerie feeling of him standing there...behind her...watching. Jordan was suddenly and acutely aware that she as only wearing a thin, cotton shift under her dress.

"Of course, I'd never consider the notion that Miss Thornton would be that brazen. The idea is preposterous! But maybe the air was too...stagnant...for her on board and she just went for a breath and wandered off by mistake. We'll immediately form a search party. I'm sure she's at this very minute standing on the shore feeling more than a little foolish."

Jordan turned her head and whispered over her shoulder. "Nigel, could you find Garret for me. He was on watch tonight..."

Nigel touched her elbow in acknowledgement before he quietly slipped out of the room. He returned less then a minute later with Garret in tow.

"_This_ is the man who was left in charge!" Thornton bellowed. "I've seen how he looked at my daughter! How do we knew he didn't have anything to do with this!"

Before everyone could blink, Thornton charged at Garret pinning him against the wall by the throat. "WHERE IS MY DAUGTHER YOU DAMN DRUNK!"

Woody was the first to react. He pulled Thornton off the pilot, and with Nigel's help, they duck-walked him to one of the galley chairs by the windows.

"Mister Thornton!" Jordan snapped. "I will not have you accosting members of my crew! Must I remind you, you are a gentleman sir! Please act as such."

Thornton slumped down in the chair. "The bastard has my baby..."

Once she was satisfied Thornton wasn't going to attack again, Jordan approached Garret and laid a hand on his forearm. She was almost floored by the smell of alcohol on his breathe. "Are you alright?"

Garret nodded. "I didn't see...or hear anything. I'd never. You know that, Jordan. He's talking crazy. She could have just snuck off for all we know. Girls like that have been known to run away..."

Jordan squeezed his arm gently. Garret's own daughter had run away at about the same age. His wife never forgave him from not tracking her down and dragging her back. With n a few months she left him alone with a bottle and his regrets. Quietly, she asked him to wake up Bug and go on shore to see if there was any sign of the girl.

Jordan turned back to Thornton. Nigel stood behind him with his hand resting on the man's shoulder. Jordan had no doubts that if Thornton even twitched Nigel's grip would turn into a vise.

"Mr. Thornton. I need to ask you a delicate question, if I may?" She didn't wait before she launched into it. "Does your daughter have a...paramour or maybe a new gentleman caller that you are aware of?"

"Are you suggesting that she ran away?"

"No, but it maybe possible she could be ...charmed...and had a moment where her natural common sense could have been clouded."

Jordan's voice was full of compassion and concern. Woody's lips twitched wondering if she was showing true sympathy ...or she was play acting.

"Please Mr. Thornton," she added ringing her hands hopelessly. "Is there anybody special that's caught your daughter's eye lately?"

"There was this one gent she met at a party in New Orleans. He sent her hot house roses the next day and wrote her he being seeing her again. I told her that would be impossible. He wasn't an acceptable caller. Besides we were leaving to go back home to St. Louis. She pouted of course...but the morning of the trip she seemed quite eager to be leaving for home."

Unable to help himself Woody stepped in. "Can you tell us about this man. What was his name? What did he look like?"

Thornton was over come with a cough and asked for a drink. Jordan asked Nigel to get him a brandy. Thornton downed half the snifter before he spoke again.

"I never caught his name. It was Palmer or Portman," he said with a wave of the hand. "He had an accent, like he was from one of those damn New England states. His tongue ran his consents together so tight they grated on a man's nerves. I didn't like the way he looked at my daughter. I told Natalie that she should discourage him. Men like that are just out for one thing. I assumed she did and that was the end of it. That was until the flowers came. I made her throw them out. She's too young to accept favors from strange men."

_Portman...Palmer... accent...damn._

Jordan could feel the hair go up on her arms. She received hot house roses from a charming foreign stranger. Many times in fact. She too, had been captivated. Enough to find herself in his bed. That was until she found out all he really wanted was her boat. Could his tastes have changed to innocent young heiresses?

"Can you describe him? Was he tall? Short?" Jordan asked leadingly.

"All those foreigners look the same to me," Thornton said looking at Nigel. "Dark haired, tall. I guess he cut a good figure. Or he has a good tailor. Dark eyed, like one of those crazy Cajuns, but not as dark skinned as that Injun you have running around here. I don't know! I don't see what this has to do with my daughter missing! I want this boat torn apart and that sorry excuse of a pilot of yours locked up until she is found!"

"It'll be light shortly," Jordan said looking out the east bank of windows. The idea of disturbing the other passengers didn't sit well with her. Her business was sluggish already. If it got out that she dragged people out of their beds in the middle of the night looking for lost girl her reputation would be completely shot. "We'll do a through search of the boat at that time. In the meantime, we'll increase the search party on shore. We'll find her Mr. Thornton." She assured him. "Nigel, do me a favor and take the dingy up around the curve. _The Belle_ should be there. Captain Brandau likes that spot. See if...if they've had any trouble..and please be discreet."

"I always am," he nodded knowing. _The Delta Belle_ was own by a New Orleans business man named Pollack...a man that sounded suspiciously like the Thornton girl's caller. Nigel slipped quietly out the door and into the night.

"I'll gather some more of the passengers," Woody whispered over her shoulder. "We'll start searching the boat quietly..."

"No, Mr. Hoyt. I'd like to speak to you myself. Would you follow me please?"

So she was going to start questioning the passengers with him, Woody mused. If the roles were reversed Woody would be doing the same thing. Only, he wasn't ready to show his hand yet. Miss Thornton's disappearance could very well be just a coincidence, but Woody didn't miss Jordan's silent gasp when Mr. Thornton was describing the man who took an interest in his daughter. If he were a gambling man...which he was... he'd bet his last dime Jordan not only knew where the Thornton girl was...but was connected in some way.

"As you wish," he nodded, holding the door open for her.

Jordan led him out on the deck away from the open cabin door and into the waning shadows of the deck. It probably wasn't one of the safest moves Jordan ever made. With Nigel on shore and her derringer setting on her dresser she was quite alone with the stranger. She smiled, if he made any move against her she'd just toss him over the side. It wouldn't be the first time she's rid herself of a problem like that...and it probably wouldn't be the last. It was a risk she needed to take. Why wasn't Mister Hoyt sleeping off his night of debauchery at the tables like the rest of _The Marker's_ passengers?

"Where were you when Miss Thornton disappeared?"

"A sleep in my cabin. Sadly...alone," he said folding his arms "Can you say the same?"

If he thought he could distract her with some flirting and a charming smile he was sadly mistaken. "I'm not the one under suspicion here, Mr. Hoyt."

"Like Mr. Thornton stated, this is your boat, madam. Her passengers are your responsibility. I suggest we end this discussion and concentrate on finding this girl...that is unless you're stalling. Is that the case Miss Cavanaugh? Is that why you sent three of your men on shore? Are they looking for the girl or are they doing something else?"

"Are you insinuating that one of my people would actually help this girl to run away?"

"No, I believe one of your crew did something to this girl and are now hiding the evidence..." His voice was cold; his cultured Memphis lilt gone. It was like she heard him speak for the first time.

Jordan's eyes narrowed and she looked down at his worn shoes. "Just _who _are you Mr. Hoyt?"

A scream shattered the silence of the river. Showing no concern for her personal safety, Jordan took off running in the direction of the commotion as fast as her bare feet could take her with Woody hot on her heels.

They found Lily standing at the stern of the water gripping the rail like it was the only thing that kept her from what was lurking in the dark waters below her. Jordan was almost afraid to see what Lily was staring at. She pointed her finger, but Jordan didn't need help seeing what had Lily so terrified. Even in the pale light of the predawn they could make out the shape of a body tangled in the paddle wheel.

"I'll find somebody and we'll get her out," Woody said calmly and turned away with a curse.

They didn't need to see her face to know it was the Thornton girl. Her arms were bound behind her like the other girl. Her body was half draped over the wood like she had been tossed there. Apparently whoever did this wanted to make sure she was found on _The Marker._

A few minutes later the sound of oars could be heard rounding the side of the boat... along with the whispers and cries of the few passengers that had been awaken by Lily's scream. Jordan tried to get them to go back to their cabins but her voice fell on deaf ears.

Just as the sun peaked though the tree along the shore Jordan watched as Nigel and Woody pulled the broken body of Natalie Thornton over the side of the dingy. Apparently Nigel didn't make it to the _The Delta Belle_.

All for the best. She needed him. She needed Nigel by her side. Now more than ever.

Jordan told Lily to go back to her room and ran around to the gangplank as they carried the girl onboard. Mr. Thornton pushed his way through the group on onlookers. The pain in his yell cut Jordan straight through to her soul. She was so worried about what this would mean to her and her business she forgot that a young woman was the one laying there staring with unseeing eyes. Someone had the fore thought to bring a blanket and cover the body.

"I'm sorry for your loss Mr. Thornton," Jordan said gently resting her hand on the man's back.

He reared up and once again Woody blocked him from striking out.

"Mr. Thornton, we're all as shocked as you are over this tragedy. Let's not make it worse."

Thornton looked like he was ready to cry. He nodded once and straightened his suit jacket. "We need to get her away from all these prying eyes..."

"Of course," Woody agreed compassionately, patting the man lightly on the shoulder. "If you show me her room I'll bring her a long directly."

Once Natalie Thornton was laid out on her bunk, Woody grabbed Jordan by the forearm and dragged her bodily away from the scene and to a marginally quiet spot on the boat. Jordan pulled away the second they stopped.

"Would you care to explain _this,_" he hissed pulling a sheet of soggy paper from his equally as damp shirt.

Jordan gingerly opened the sheet:

_Get off the river Rosebud._

_You know what you have to do._

_Do it or you're next_

Jordan's face blanched. She hadn't heard that endearment in a very long time. Woody instinctively wrapped his hands around her arms as her started to sway.

"Don't you touch me! Don't you EVER touch me again!" she spit, twisting out of his grasp.

Woody quickly snapped back. "You didn't answer my question, madam."

Jordan gripped the note again and closed her eye tightly hoping it would go away. "I can't."

"You can and you will."

"Why?" she cried. "What difference does it make to you?"

"Because, as of this moment, you and your crew are the key factors in my investigation."

Jordan's eyes snapped open, her question blatantly in them.

"My name is Hoyt. I'm with the Pinkerton Agency."

* * *

By the time the sun was over the tree tops the word of the murder had been spread to the rest the ship. Against Jordan's better judgment, Mr. Thornton demanded that she steam the boat to the nearest town. He disembarked with most of the passengers in tow. Before Jordan could even consider what she was going to do next the local sheriff, flanked by Detective Hoyt, climbed on board and demanded that Garret surrender himself for the murder of Natalie Thornton. Jordan steadfastly refused to acknowledge the request until both Garret and Nigel convinced her it was best until they could figure out what happened.

She watched as Garret was led away in cuffs and turned to Woody with her hands on her hips.

"I don't know who killed this girl...but I know who's behind it."


	5. Revelations

**Chapter 5**

**Revelations**

"Then before I haul you away to join Garret in the town's jail, would you care to enlighten me?" Woody replied, a sneer on his lips and behind his voice. He knew this woman…business person or paramour … was somehow behind Natalie's murder.

"Whoa, Mr. Hoyt. I didn't say I was behind it. I said I _know_ who's probably behind it. "

Woody stifled a sigh and pulled her along the side of the ship, trying to find somewhere that they wouldn't be overheard. "Damn," he muttered under his breath, "is there anywhere your staff _isn't_ at?"

"I hope not. That's why they're paid. To be at the passengers' beck and call and watch out for anything that may happen," Jordan answered soberly.

"Then I guess they weren't too successful last night. Or does your captain always get away with murder?"

"Garret did not murder that girl," Jordan replied sharply and with a huff. "And if you'd stop dragging me along, I'll stop somewhere that we can talk." She pulled her arm out of his grip and hurried in front of him, taking the stairs two at a time and finally opening the door to her own small bedroom. Woody followed her closely, never letting her get out of arm's reach. "Here," she said shutting the door behind them and throwing on the snib. "We won't be bothered here."

"Are you sure? What about your English _friend_?" Woody spat out.

"Nigel?" If he didn't know better, he would swear her voice held a note of incredulousness.

"Yes. Mr. Townsend."

Jordan shrugged. "Don't worry. If he does drop by, he'll knock."

"Tell me, does he always take so kindly to you inviting strangers into your bedroom?"

Jordan bit her lip. She was more than aware of what the staff and most of the passengers on the Delta Marker thought about her and Nigel and their "relationship." And up until now, this very moment, the context of what she and Nigel had together had been a comfort to her, not a distraction or a pitfall … at least to her. Never one for convention, she could care less what people thought. Nigel had kept her safe. Nigel had always looked out for her best interests.

So why did this arrogant detective's perception of her now matter so much? She pushed the thought down and concentrated on freeing Garret. "You said you wanted to know who was behind Natalie's murder," she replied, skillfully changing the subject.

Woody nodded and leaned against one of her posts of her four-poster bed. "Yeah. I need to know what you think, since your reaction to the note found on the girl was so noticeable, _Rosebud_." His voice inflected what he thought.

Jordan found her hands twisting themselves in knots. Finally, she took a deep breath, found her courage and laced her fingers together before sitting down on the side of the bed, facing away from Woody.

"Rosebud was what he used to call me," she began in an anxious whisper. "It was my nickname." She paused and glanced at Woody, giving him a nervous smile. "He being JD Pollack."

_Pollack, Pollack, Pollack…_ Woody mentally ran the name through his head, comparing it against all the cases he had either had himself or other Pinkerton agents had over the course of his year in New Orleans. He came up empty and frowning. "Pollack? Who is he?"

Jordan carefully smoothed out the front of her dress. "JD is from New England. A real up-state dandy. Good gambler. Good storyteller. An even better cad." She paused for a moment.

Woody raised an eyebrow. "Go on," he softly urged. Whoever this Pollack was, he was causing Miss Cavanaugh some discomfort.

"You have to understand it was a long time ago…nearly a lifetime ago," She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. "It was right after my guardian died and I took ownership of the boat."

"Your guardian?"

She nodded. "Gentleman Jim. Then the boat was called _The Delta Belle_. I changed the name right after his death."

"Too many bad memories and you wanted to start over?" Woody asked, his voice softening. He knew from experience what it was like being an orphan and depending on others for sustenance. He had no idea this woman came from a similar background. That would explain her independence…and possibly her unconventional way of doing things.

"Something like that," she murmured, her fingers going back to lacing themselves in knots. "I was young and didn't have the staff around me that I do now…people that look out for the _Marker's_ best interest." She took another deep breath. "Pollack…JD…was a riverboat gambler…and he desperately wanted a boat of his own. When he found out that the _Marker_ was owned by a woman, he assumed I would be eager to sell it and move on with my life on land. He had no idea that Jim raised me on the boat and I had no intentions of selling…ever. When he discovered that the _Marker_ wasn't for sale…"

"He tried to wine and dine you," Woody finished in a flat voice. He had heard the story far too many times for the ending to change very often.

"Yes. Let me emphasized that he _tried_, Mr. Hoyt. And he was very skillful." Woody watched a slow blush rise to her cheeks. "But when he discovered that my final word concerning the _Delta Marker_ was 'no' …. Let's just say he wasn't very happy to have wasted all his time, efforts, and money on me. He vowed to get even….to eventually run me out of business and off the river….let me get so destitute that I would practically give him the boat." She turned and looked at him then.

And Woody read a world of hurt in those whiskey-colored eyes. He couldn't see a man using her like that now…but a younger, more vulnerable Jordan…one that was reeling from the death of her guardian and the responsibilities of a riverboat. He'd bet that the hurt had never truly healed, either. He shook himself back into the present. "So you think that this is part of Pollack's plan to get back at you and take possession of the _Marker_."

"It makes sense. Especially after you found that note…"

Woody nodded. "Who else knows about Pollack?"

"None of the crew…this was before I fired all the previous employees under Jim."

"You kept no one from his crew?" That was nearly unheard of.

"They couldn't be trusted," she replied softly, glancing back down at her hands. Woody could have sworn her heard her voice quiver a little. Just what had this woman gone through?

"You're sure it couldn't be one of them?" He had to ask. It was his job.

"No."

"But you said they couldn't be trusted."

"They may have hated me for firing them, but I'd go to the wall saying none of them are capable of murder, Mr. Hoyt."

"So…." He continued, blowing out a breath he had long been holding. "What about this Townsend fellow? Does he know about Pollack?"

"Nigel?" Jordan had to grin. "Nigel wouldn't have harmed a hair on the girl's head."

"You haven't answered all of my question. Did he know about Pollack?"

Jordan lowered her head and nodded.

"Everything?"

She nodded again.

"Her father said the man that was flirting with his daughter had an accent. Maybe since Townsend knows about Pollack, he is behind this…"

"A _New England_ accent. Nigel's British."

"But when a parent is trying to vainly remember details about his daughter's life, all the accents could run together. What if your Mr. Townsend was flirting with this girl and wanted to take it further, and she said no…"

"It wasn't Nigel," Jordan replied in a firm voice.

"You seem very confident about your boyfriend."

She chuckled then. An action that threw Woody off guard. "I am."

"Men have been known to stray in the past, Miss Cavanaugh," he protested, pushing her, determined to get some answers behind this strange situation with the female riverboat owner.

"Not Nigel."

"What makes you so sure?" If he kept pushing her, he knew he'd get answers.

"I just am," she answered evasively, getting up and moving to the door to open it and let him out. "We're finished here, Mr. Hoyt. I've told you all I know."

"I don't think so," Woody replied. In a swift movement, he snibbed the lock closed again, took her by the arm and sat her firmly back on the bed again. Jordan tried to bolt off the side and grab her derringer, only to find that in another smooth move, Woody had taken that, too. "You're going to tell me why you don't think your Nigel…a man with an accent…couldn't have been behind the death of this girl. And we're not leaving this room until you do."

* * *

Jordan listened to the clock tick the minutes away…it was morning now…bright morning and she knew that if she didn't make an appearance downstairs before long, the crew would be up and looking for her. "Mr. Hoyt…I need to go," she implored. "After everything that has happened, if I don't show up soon, they're going to come looking for me and it won't be pretty."

"Let them look. I want answers Miss Cavanaugh. And so does Natalie's father. And Natalie deserves them. You may have told me part of the truth, but not the whole truth. What makes you so sure that Mr. Townsend had nothing to do with Natalie?"

Jordan sighed deeply. Nigel's secret had always been safe with her…she had told no one. He had asked her not to. "I can't tell you," she replied.

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't"

"Then we're going to spend the rest of the day in your room until you feel you can."

"Mr. Hoyt….I need to leave."

"Then tell me why you feel that Townsend had nothing to do with this … and then maybe you and he both will be out from under my suspicions." Woody narrowed his eyes at her.

Jordan shut her eyes and swallowed her better judgment. "Then what I tell you now must never leave this room. You must promise me you'll never tell anyone…or do anything to make Nigel suspect that you know…"

"Know what?" Woody raised his eyebrows.

"No….not until you promise me….your word as a …._gentleman_." Jordan looked Woody up and down before she said the last word with a sneer.

Taking a deep breath and going against _his_ better judgment, Woody replied, "I promise…I won't breathe a word of this outside this room. Ever."

"Good." Jordan paused for a moment, trying to find the right words that would somehow sanitize the situation, but none were coming to mind. If there were any at all.

Somehow she didn't think there were.

"Nigel wouldn't have flirted with Natalie…because he couldn't."

Woody's eyebrows grazed his hairline again. "Nigel doesn't like young girls?" Very few things shocked him now…living a year in New Orleans had taken any surprise he had over any sexual situation away.

"No…not exactly."

"Nigel doesn't like girls at all?"

"No…" Jordan wrung her hands. This was going badly and with every moment she felt as if she were betraying her friend.

Woody sputtered. "Then what?" he asked, his voice rising to a dangerously loud note.

"Sh….someone could hear," Jordan cautioned.

"Townsend's in here enough that it should surprise no one to hear a man's voice coming from your bedroom," Woody rampaged.

"NO!" Jordan nearly screamed the words at him in a whisper. "Nigel wouldn't have been flirting with Natalie because he can't follow through. Nigel …Nigel…Nigel had scarlet fever…and….and…"

"He's impotent."

Jordan nodded, her cheeks flushing true red now.

Things clicked in Woody's mind then, faster than dealing cards at the next poker game. "So the time that Nigel spends in here….with you…."

"Is all a ruse. To make people think that I'm 'taken' so the male passengers will leave me alone. Now can I please go now? The crew will be worried about me." She stood and walked over to the door, but paused, as if asking his permission before unlocking the door and tending to her morning business.

Woody looked at her closely. There was still something about hers and Townsend's relationship she wasn't telling him, but it could wait. The important thing was that Woody now knew for a fact that Nigel, despite his accent, couldn't be implicated in Natalie's death.

And couldn't be sleeping with Jordan. A fact that made him feel oddly relieved for some reason.

"Mr. Hoyt? Can I go? We're expecting a new couple to board this morning and I need to make sure their stateroom is ready. They're on their honeymoon."

Woody shook himself and walked over to the door and opened it. "A new couple? Who are they?"

"They're just boarding so they don't have anything to do with Natalie's murder. Their names are Lu and Matt Seely." Jordan pushed past him and made her way downstairs, never hearing Woody's audible groan behind her.

"Miss Cavanaugh, wait," he called out.

"Mr. Hoyt…You have held me up for quite long enough. I have answered all your questions to the very best of my ability and have been shockingly honest with you. Now if you don't mind…."

"Miss Cavanaugh…Jordan…I don't care what you do or how you do it, but Lu and Matt Seely do not need to board this boat. They can't."

Jordan tilted her head at Woody. If he had had her flustered over the last several hours, just her mentioning the Seely's names seemed to have upset the Pinkerton detective to no end.

A fact she planned to use to her advantage if needed.

"I don't think I can stop them now, Mr. Hoyt. And I need the money. Over half the passengers disembarked after we found Natalie."

"Just.. don't let them board. I'll have the agency make it up to you, I promise."

This time she narrowed her eyes at him. "Why?"

Woody swallowed hard and pulled at his collar that had become entirely too tight in the span of a few minutes. "Because…my cover will be blown. Mrs. Seely…Lu…knows me."

"Then she must know that your anonymity is extremely important. Good day, Mr. Hoyt."

"No….wait." He grabbed her shoulder with desperation. He had to stop the Seely's from boarding the boat at all costs. "That wouldn't matter to her at all…she'd love blowing my cover."

Jordan narrowed her eyes and asked again, "Why?"

"Because….because I was once engaged to her…"

"And obviously didn't marry her. A fact she should be eternally grateful for, I'm sure. But that still doesn't make me want to put her off the boat. You'll have to do better than that."

Woody tugged at his collar again. "I left her standing at the altar," he finally whispered, lowering his eyes to examine his shoes.


	6. Fade to Black

**Chapter Six**

**Fade to Black**

Jordan let a slow, sly smile pull at the corner of her mouth. She'd felt the weight of his harsh judgment on her since he boarded, and for the first time in a long time, she had felt shame for the lifestyle she had chosen. Now, she had come to find that the square-jawed, clean-living detective was not only a cad but a hypocrite as well.

"I thought you Pinkerton men were supposed to be all decent, honest and upright, hand-selected by Mr. Pinkerton himself." She gave a sharp laugh. "Looks like one fell through the cracks."

She waited for him to defend himself, but his eyes were still cast down onto his feet. "You see now why she can't board." He tentatively raised his face to hers with a stern set to his jaw.

"Not a chance, Hoyt." She tossed her head back. "Like I said, I need the fare. And besides, I can't _wait_ to meet Lu Seely."

"I'm in the middle of a murder investigation. You don't understand."

"Don't I?" She looked at him through narrowed eyes. "I think I understand all too well. The former Tallulah Simmons apparently comes from money back in Chicago. But I'm sure you already knew that," she jabbed at him. "They've paid good money for their darling's wedding trip. The finest stateroom on the Delta, champagne, a five course dinner every night. I can't afford to lose that fare. If I do, I might as well hand the deed to this boat over to J.D. Pollack right now, and that's exactly what he wants. I won't do that. Not ever. Do _you_ understand?"

"She'll blow my cover."

"That, detective, is your problem. Not mine." Jordan unlatched the door and swung it wide open. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to dress so I can welcome our new passengers aboard."

He stood for a moment stubbornly holding her gaze, but he finally let out a small, unintelligible grumble of defeat and passed by her into the hallway.

"Well, well. Our Pinkerton man left a woman standing at the altar." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and she gave a disapproving click of the tongue. "I suppose it just goes to show, Mr. Hoyt, appearances can be deceiving."

His first impulse was to skulk guiltily down the door and lick his wounds in his cabin, but he turned to look back at her before she went. There was a mixture of fear and determination in her eyes. This J.D. Pollack, whoever he was, had her running scared, but he had to admire her defiance in the face of it.

He turned squarely toward her. He wanted to take her shoulders in each of his hands, but he somehow dared not touch her. "Do you really think this Pollack is responsible for the murders on the river?"

"Yes. I know it. And it's because of me." There were tears hidden in her voice.

"All right. I think I have a plan, but I'll need your help. We'll talk tonight when it's safe. In the meantime, I'm asking you not to blow my cover with the Seelys."

She nodded once, and he heard her shut the door softly behind him as he headed down the hallway.

Thoughts of too many women ran through his brain. Natalie Thornton, the poor murdered girl; Jordan Cavanaugh, the infuriating owner of the boat; and now Lu. The memory of her stabbed at him.

He had somehow managed to wangle an invitation to some Chicago society party after he arrived from Lake Michigan, and he met her there. She was pretty and demure and passive. If there was something else lacking in her, a certain _challenge_, some indescribable pull, it seemed to matter little to him. She was all he ever wanted. Or thought he wanted, as it turned out.

After a proper courtship, she accepted the proposal of her tall, blue-eyed suitor, and her wealthy father had not objected. Mr. Simmons was a self-made man, and he could sense Woody's own confidence and keen ambition. Woody Hoyt had prospects, and he could make his only daughter a happy woman.

Prospects…a job with the new Pinkerton Agency and a ticket to New Orleans. It was all too alluring, thoughts of the city with its strange customs, free-flowing gin, and brothels packed with exotic, dark-skinned beauties.

There was a wild, new place for him to explore, without a home and a family to hold him back. As he dressed on the morning of his wedding, he felt like a man being led to the gallows, and he suddenly knew that he did not love his pretty, blonde fiancée.

His fingers fell away from the impossible cravat around his neck, and his hands hung limply at his side.

_If you're a man, you'll go down to her house right now and tell her the wedding is off_.

He turned away from his own gaze in the mirror and quickly changed into his traveling suit. He hurried to the train station with a suitcase in one hand and his ticket in the other. In the distance, he could hear the church bells peal in celebration of the wedding that would not be.

Standing here on the deck now, awaiting for Lu to board, he knew he had made the right decision. He didn't love her. He never had. Mr. Simmons' assessment of him had been correct. He was ambitious, too ambitious to be held down by any woman.

Which didn't entirely explain why he had felt such a sense of relief when Jordan Cavanaugh had told him there was nothing between her and the Englishman. She was beautiful, of course. But he knew he could never pin down this untamable woman even if he wanted to.

She had appeared now on the deck. She looked at him with a faint smile and said nothing, giving no hint of what they had spoken of a few hours earlier in her cabin. A carriage pulled up onto the dock, and the door swung open. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

It was her. She was all in pink and yellow, and her cheeks were flush with excitement. Her new husband was handsome in a sharp kind of way, and he seemed to wear a permanent sneer. He led her up the gangway to where the mistress of _The Delta Marker _waited for them.

"Welcome aboard, Mr. and Mrs. Seely. We've prepared the stateroom especially for you."

"We've heard about the death of the girl on board, but I'm relieved to hear that you've got a man in custody." Matt Seely interrupted her speech.

"Yes, an investigation is underway." Jordan shot a glance at Woody and quickly changed the subject. "I trust your journey with us will be a pleasurable one." She turned and gestured to Woody with a raised eyebrow. "Mrs. Seely, I believe you have already met Mr. Hoyt. He's traveling to New Orleans, too, and when he heard you were coming on board, he just had to come welcome you."

Woody watched as Lu turned her face to his and the color drained from her pink cheeks.

"You know this man?" Lu's new husband asked her.

Woody stuck out his hand, and Matt Seely took it. "Woody Hoyt. I…did some work for her father in Chicago a few years back."

Matt nodded benignly. There was no reason for him not to believe it, and Woody knew that Lu had never told her new husband about him.

"Now, if you let me show you to your room, Mr. Seely, I'm sure Mrs. Seely would like to catch up with her old friend." Woody shot a look at Jordan. Yes, she was enjoying his discomfort way too much.

"Yes, Matt," Lu said evenly without taking her eyes from Woody's. "Go on. I'll be along shortly. I'd like to hear where Mr. Hoyt has been all this time."

Matt shrugged, and Jordan led him away with a parting smirk at Woody over her shoulder.

"I'm still with the Pinkertons. The other passengers don't know I'm a detective," he said as soon as Jordan and Matt were out of earshot. "I need to ask you not to blow my cover."

Her big eyes widened even further. "Is that all you're going to say? After literally leaving me standing at the altar on our wedding day? No explanations? If I weren't a lady, I'd…" She balled up her fist but let the sentence trail off.

"Lu, I'm sorry…"

"Do you know what? I don't think I want to hear your explanations after all." She held up her hand, and he could see her wedding ring sparkle through her fingerless gloves. "I'm married now, Woody. I hope you've found what you were looking for, too."

She turned quickly from him and hurried to catch up with Jordan Cavanaugh and Matt Seely. No, he hadn't found what he was looking for. It occurred to him as he thought of everything she had told him in her cabin, that Jordan Cavanaugh hadn't found what she was looking for, either

* * *

Lu and Matt Seely strolled on the deck of _The Delta Marker_. The moonlight bounced off the river, and the heavy perfume of night blooming jasmine filled the air. She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, and they stopped for a moment at the rail to take it all in.

She was tired from the whirlwind of the last few weeks -- the engagement parties, the wedding – and she stood there with him in a companionable silence. It was more than just fatigue, she knew. She had been rattled by the appearance of Woody Hoyt on board. Matt knew her heart had been broken by another man, but his name had never been spoken. She couldn't imagine what her hot-tempered husband might do if he found out…

"Are you cold, Lu?" Matt asked her, and she realized she was shivering.

"A little. Could you go back to the cabin and get my wrap?"

Matt hesitated for a moment. "I don't like to leave you unchaperoned."

"I'll be perfectly safe here. They've caught the murderer. It was the drunkard captain. You said so yourself. Besides, you'll only be gone a minute."

He smiled and kissed her once before leaving. She closed her eyes and let the cool evening air blow against her upturned face. She could hear footsteps on the deck then.

It was Matt. She could sense him behind her, and she leaned back against him. She was about to turn to him when she opened her eyes to see an arm curling around her waist. No, not Matt. This wasn't the coat he was wearing. This wasn't him.

She started to scream, but there was something against her face, a rag. Her mouth and nose were filled with a thick, sickly-sweet smell, and everything went black.


	7. I Want Him

**Chapter 7**

**I Want Him**

Church bells.

The first thing Lu noticed was sound of church bells. It was quickly followed by a dank, musty smell that reminded her of her Daddy's hunting cabin. Mother wouldn't be caught dead out there is why she loved it so much. Funny, the cottage was nowhere near church. This wasn't right. Instead of soft tick mattress underneath she felt the rough, hardness of old masonry. She remembered boarding a paddle-wheeler to finish her wedding trip to New Orleans with her new husband, Matt. Woodrow was there...then...

Panic overrode her normally cool demeanor. She sat up with a rush. Darkness; she couldn't see a thing. She stifled a scream.

Soon her eyes adjusted to the pale light of her surroundings. Four stone walls. And a door! Lu scrambled from where she lay. She fell on her hands and knees when she toppled to the floor. She ignored the scrapes on her hands and ran to the door. There were voices on the other side...

"Why is she still breathing?"

She knew that voice...but where?

"Have you seen her?"

The second voice wasn't familiar.

"Of course, do you take me for an idiot!"

The harsh bite of the New England accent made Lu jump back. Lu remembered where she heard that voice before. It was in her father's study. Mr. Pollack from Boston. He wanted her father to invest in his shipping business. Daddy never did business with people he didn't know. He politely refused and sent Mr. Pollack packing. That was of course after a party her family hosted on the eve of her wedding. There were so few eligible handsome men in attendance Lu begged for him to come. If only to make Matt a little jealous. He's so attentive when he's jealous.

"Then you'll agree with me that she's worth more alive than dead..." the second voice drawled. "That hair alone with fetch a top price out in Frisco. You know how they like their blondes."

"Very well. You'll have to handle the arrangements yourself. I have business here and I'd getting impatient..."

There was silence for a second. Lu thought maybe they walked away. She pounded the heels of her hands against the door...

"LET ME OUT! _Please, I beg you_!"

"Shut her up," Pollack said. "Or I will..."

"SHUT UP IN THERE! OR I'LL SHUT YOU UP!"

Lu realized her mistake and backed away from the door. In the dim light she groped for purchase behind her and came upon the platform she was laying. It was at that moment she realized her jail cell was in actuality a mausoleum. She was in a crypt...

She couldn't stop her scream if she had too.

* * *

_Jordan shifted from one hip to the other making her rented hoop and Swiss-dotted organza sway out of control. "Oh give me a break Nigel! Isn't holding the kidnapped bride in a crypt just a little bit over kill?" _

_Nigel harrumphed. "I'm telling this story. Next time you step up to the plate with Party Disaster Plan B..." _

_Jordan rolled her eyes to assure everyone present this would be her first and LAST costumed murder mystery party._

"_You have to admit the other guy had a point," Matt gesturing with his soda can. "If they could get a good price for her at the brothel why waste it? The only tragedy I could see was the poor bridegroom was going to cut out of the profit..." _

_Lily gasped and slapped Matt on the arm with her fuchsia feather fan "I can't believe you just said that!"_

"_I can't either," Lu smirked. "I wonder if that constitutes grounds for a divorce."_

_Even Garret chuckled at that. _

"_Right, right," Woody cut in impatiently, a little upset that Nigel's story was interrupted. "What happened next? Did the Pinkerton guy have a plan?" _

"_No," Nigel beamed, beginning to weave his tale again. "Actually, it was our hero ..."_

_

* * *

_Nigel paced the length of the main dining room as he spoke. Bug, Lily, Jordan and a few choice members of the crew listened ardently. 

"The plan is simple. Jordan agrees to Pollack's demands only on her terms."

"Which are?" Bug asked.

"He has to win a card game first..." Jordan volunteered.

At first, everyone in the room looked at Jordan and Nigel as if they had lost there minds. A smug smile crossed Lily's lips as it dawned on her what Nigel's plan would entail.

"The one thing JD desires more than anything is to _win," _Jordan explained. "We are going to host a by-invitation-only event, here on _The Marker,_ when we hit port in New Orleans. The prize is the boat and everything on board her."

"I don't understand," Bug interrupted. "Why rest the fate of all our livelihoods on a turn of the cards..."

Nigel smiled. "Because we're going to control that fate ourselves."

"We're going to grift him?"

"Come on Buggles, we've been doing it just for fun for months now. The system is fool proof. All we need to do is make sure Pollack and I are playing that last hand. He'll never know what hit him. He'll be too embarrassed to try anything again."

"Or Jordan could be the next woman dead...I don't know."

"It's not your choice to make Bug," Jordan said standing up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm sure the local officials have finished talking to Mr. Hoyt and Mr. Seeley about Mrs. Seeley disappearance."

"I heard a rumor that Mr. Hoyt and Mrs. Seeley were looking pretty familiar on deck before dinner," Lily stated matter-of-factly. "Do they think that maybe _he_ had something to do with her disappearance?"

Jordan shrugged. When the alarm went up that Tallulah Seeley was missing, Jordan's immediate reaction was to look for the pretty blonde in the company of her unwelcome passenger. Instead, she found Woody the main lounge engaged in a friendly card game with four of the people in that very room. If the circumstances weren't so grave she would have questioned the Pinkerton's seemingly cavalier evening with _her_ friends. Instead, she was oddly relieved he had an alibi...and Nigel too.

"I don't know, but I do know it's out of my control. We need to concentrate on flushing JD out and bringing this nightmare to an end..."

Jordan squared her shoulders as she left the room. Nigel had seen that pose many times before. And it broke his heart every time. Jordan was probably the strongest woman he'd ever met. He loved her beyond reason...but he didn't _love_ her. He was sure the feeling was mutual. In all the time he's known her, the beautiful Miss Cavanaugh trusted him with a grain of salt. She was putting her fate completely in his hands and it scared the hell out of her.

* * *

For the second time in a week Woody helped search the boat from stem to stern looking for a missing woman, this time they didn't find her. She simply wasn't on board. The local authorities deduced that her disappearance could very well be unrelated to the other missing women. After all, the prime suspect in the killings was still behind bars up river. 

Woody couldn't be sure. This could very well be a straight forward kidnapping. Apparently, Mr. Seely was from a large publishing family. He voiced concerns that maybe someone in his family was involved. With his marriage, Matt stood to inherit a large interest in the company. Deep down inside, Woody couldn't totally rule out that maybe Lu had staged this herself. He can remember she was given to dramatics and assuming the reactions of others.

He left Mr. Seely onshore waiting for her to contact him...or to receive the ransom demand. There was nothing much left for him to do. He needed to get to New Orleans and follow his lead. With Bug piloting the boat they steamed toward the delta. Woody caught up with Jordan on the forward deck.

"How are you holding up?"

Jordan looked at him like he just suggested that she should take off all her clothes and hop like a chicken.

"Very well under the circumstances Mr. Hoyt," she bit out, staring out at the river before her.

Woody smiled at the chill. "Don't tell me you're still mad about yesterday..."

"Don't concern yourself Mr. Hoyt. As distasteful as being held against my will was, I have more important things to worry about..."

"Good. You can tell me right where to find this Pollack when we dock in New Orleans."

"Here."

"What?"

Jordan turned her attention away from the river and to the man beside her. "While we're in port I'm going to host a by-invitation-only high stakes poker tournament."

"How do you know he'll be there?"

"Because the grand prize is my boat..."

"_WHAT! _I don't have a case on him yet! I can't arrest him."

As Woody's voice rose with his temper, Jordan's stayed cool and unemotional. "I didn't ask you to."

"You can't be serious."

"He'll jump at the chance to make me look like a fool in front of the cream of his contemporaries."

"Just like that. You're going to let him waltz on board and get away with all this..."

"I have no intentions on letting him win, Mr. Hoyt..."

"How...? Never mind. You're merry little band of con-artists are planning on fixing the tournament."

"It's just the matter of getting Nigel in front of him for that last hand."

"You're crazy."

"No sir, I'm just tired of fighting."

"It'll never work."

"It has to...or who's to say how many more people will die."

* * *

Jordan pawned her ruby necklace to bankroll the tournament. It broke her heart, but she was pleased to see the handful of businessman she invited in attendance. The forward lounge sparkled with freshly polished fixtures, gleaming stemware, and flowing champagne. The first few hands were already underway when she stepped in the room. She dressed with care that night. Her hair was piled high and garnished with deep burgundy feathers that matched her gown perfectly. JD once said it was his favorite color on her. She didn't want him to miss her when she walked in the room... 

...and she wasn't disappointed.

With cat like grace, JD slowly made his way across the room toward her. The way he moved was one of the things that first attracted her to him. His rugged good looks and impeccable charm left a trial of broken hearts where ever he went...hers included. Even though she knew what kind of man he was, Jordan couldn't help but feel her heart flutter just a little when he stopped in front of her.

"Rosebud," he smiled taking her ungloved hand. Instead of kissing the back he turned it over and kissed the palm. "I was delighted to get your invitation."

From across the room, Woody witnesses the exchange. He had weaseled himself in the game by threatening to disclose their plan. He knew he wasn't the only set of eyes watching the twosome with keen interest.

_So this was Pollack. _Woody had sized the man up earlier. His face looked like it had met the lethal end of a barroom fist more than once. His clothes were impeccable but his hands were rough like a man that didn't mind getting them dirty. Woody had a bad feeling about this whole situation.

Jordan gave JD a smile designed to put him at ease, at least as far as polite society was concerned. She didn't miss the way he watched her lips. She already had the upper hand and she meant to keep it.

Pollack asked her to sit with him for luck, but Jordan graciously declined telling him that it wouldn't be fair to her other guests.

"I plan to win Jordan," he whispered in her ear.

She ignored the challenge in his voice. "There are a dozen other man in this room that would beg to differ."

"But they're not playing for the same reason I am."

"Then I guess you'd better play your best game." Her laugh left him hard as a rock.

Jordan walked over the bar and asked for glass of champagne as play resumed. She left the glass untouched on the bar because her hands were shaking so hard. Lily stood on the small stage singing a ballad about unrequited love in the key of "C" letting Bug, the acting busboy; know that Nigel's opponent was looking at an inside straight.

Jordan found it impossible to relax even as Nigel's pot grew. One by one the players that had been disqualified, including Woody, had started side games biding their time until a champion had been named. Every once in awhile, Jordan could feel Woody's eyes on her. It was like he could tell she was ready to explode and was offering her some kind of support. Whatever it was, it made her more self conscious and she wished he would stop.

Just after midnight the final table was beginning to be prepared. As the final hands were being played, side bets were placed and brandy flowed freely. Jordan noticed Woody was acting quite drunk even though she had only seen his glass filled once all evening. It was all she could do not to demand to know why he was tormenting her so. When Woody staggered over to the stage and began to "sing" with Lily. Jordan couldn't take it anymore.

"Mr. Hoyt," she hissed. "I believe you have imbibed a bit much. Why don't I call a steward to escort you to your stateroom?"

"Patience darlin'. You'll just have to wait until Miss Lily and I are done with our _duet,_" Woody said drunkenly, "and then you and I can somewhere quiet an make our own music."

Jordan tried to roll away in disgust, only to be stopped as he gently caught her wrist Woody's voice was oddly sober sounding when he whispered in her ear, "Pollack has been watching Nigel like a hawk the last few hands. I think he's getting suspicious."

Jordan's jaw drop and she turned to look, but Woody was quick to cover. He was unsteady on his feet as he pulled her against him, snaking his free arm around her waist. As she gasped in protest he dropped his lips on hers with a loud, sloppy kiss.

Jordan reacted by delivering a resounding slap across his face. She barely heard the chuckles around that room, nor the comments that he wouldn't remember it in the morning. She was so upset with him that she barely noticed the last two tables were finished playing and the final pairing had been named.

As tradition, the final game was played on a fresh table with a new deck of cards. JD lit a thin cigar as he watched the dealer open the deck. He looked at Jordan throw the haze of the smoke and said, "Why don't we make a little side bet of our own, Rosebud?"

"I should think my boat would be enough."

JD rolled the cigar in his mouth for a second before he said, "No. If your player wins I kick in my winnings so far. At last count it was just under twenty thousand..."

"And if you win?"

"You become mine. For one night."

Jordan locked eyes with Nigel, completely ignoring Woody's drunken outburst about JD keeping the money because he was sure his balls would surely freeze off.

Trying to feed off her friend's confident stare, she said, "I accept."

"One more thing," JD drawled. "I'm not comfortable playing with your sharp. As your guest, I demand to choose another player..."

"Of course," Jordan said looking over heads for Bug. He was the only other man in the room that knew the code.

JD pointed to Woody, who was looking to everyone in the room, like he was ready to pass out. "I want him."


	8. The Fat Lady Sings

**Chapter Eight**

**The Fat Lady Sings**

"Him?" Jordan heard herself and Nigel echo back in surprise.

"Yeah. Him," JD replied, rolling his cigar around to the other corner of his mouth, grinning around it and pointing at Woody at the same time.

"But…Mr. Hoyt is slightly inebriated," Jordan relied weakly, looking at Woody through her lashes, hoping he would outright refuse JD or somehow sink into the wood flooring of the boat.

JD threw her quizzical look.

"Drunk. Mr. Hoyt is drunk," Nigel responded, grinding the words out through his teeth. "You would have him at a disadvantage."

"So?" Was JD's somnolent reply. "I've been playing and losing to a sharp all night. It's time I had some advantage in this jerry-rigged game."

Meanwhile from his place on the makeshift stage with Lily, Woody observed and heard everything that was transpiring. Thinking quickly, he staggered toward JD's table, tipped his hat, and held out his hand. "The name is Hoyt. Woody Hoyt. From the Memphis Hoyts…" he began and then belched loudly. "Excuse me…"

JD snickered and rolled his eyes. Where did this guy come from? And just how green was he? Winning the boat would be easy. Winning Jordan would be a little harder….because despite her agreeing to warm his bed one night, he could detect the slight worry lines at the corners of her mouth…invisible to most people except those who had _intimate_ knowledge of the lady.

"Do you know what you're doing?" she managed to hiss at Woody.

"I do. Indeed I do, Miss Cavanaugh…" he replied, turning his attention away from JD and taking Jordan's ungloved hand and raising it to his lips. "I am about to keep your boat…safe and in your very capable occupation." He caught her brown eyes with her blue ones. His walk and demeanor might appear drunk, but Woody was stone-cold sober.

And sweating bullets. He knew the signals the crew used to throw the card games, but since he wasn't as experienced with them as they were, he was at a slight disadvantage.

And Nigel's look of barely-hidden fear wasn't helping.

However JD looked confident…too confident for Woody's liking. The big man rolled his cigar again to the other corner of his mouth. "And you know you get more than the boat if you win….you get a night with the boat's owner. All night. She does whatever you want her to do…" he gestured towards Jordan.

JD was playing him, and Woody knew it. _If you can't beat 'em join 'em_, he thought, pushing to make the scene seem real to Pollack. "Really?" he replied, his eyes glinting into Jordan's. "All night…and whatever I want….that does raise the stakes considerably, now, doesn't it?"

"I'd say it makes it worth even more the effort to win," JD replied, pulling the fresh deck of cards out and beginning to shuffle them.

"And I'd say you're right. But you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Pollack."

"I do? Trust me, Hoyt. The cards aren't marked…."

"No…no…I mean, Miss Cavanaugh…is she really worth the effort? Is she really that….._good?_"

Jordan felt a warmth creep up in her face and a blush take over as anger began to snake its way up her spine. _How dare they…compare her like a boat or a carriage…_Old wounds were beginning to open when she caught Woody's barely perceptible wink.

Then she knew. He was trying to throw Pollack off-guard.

"Why don't you see for yourself, Mr. Hoyt?" she asked seductively, curling her fingers around his.

"I believe I will," he replied as he pulled her to him and found her lips.

Jordan had expected the scene to continue to play out as an act.

She was in no way prepared for the onslaught his lips brought. The kiss began softly enough, but he soon increased the pressure until she had to open her lips for him. As he teased the inner edge of her mouth with his tongue, she nearly gasped.

Then his hand slipped up to lightly cup her breast through the beaded bodice of her dress and his tongue slid the rest of the way into her mouth and played with hers.

Jordan found herself not only kissing him back, but leaning into his touch as his thumb gently stroked the side of her breast. It had been so long since a man had touched her this way…not grabbing, not groping, and not running after he had taken what he wanted…or cursing her when she wouldn't deliver what he thought was rightfully his.

Woody's touch was different…_If we going to go there, we're going together…_ was what it seemed to be saying…The thought flitted through her mind that it would be lovely if the whole room of people would just disappear and she and Detective Hoyt could just…

"That's enough…" JD's voice cut in. "No more sampling the goods before they're rightfully won, Hoyt." Laughter and amusement threaded his voice. It was obvious he was taking Woody for a rube. JD's grin kicked up at the corners of his mouth…raising at least two more notches with his over-found confidence. He was sure Woody would lose and before the end of the night, the _Delta Marker_ would be in his possession and Jordan would be in his bed.

Jordan's eyes snapped open as Woody ended the kiss, pulling away from her, his clear blue eyes now dusky with something she was afraid to read. Ruefully, nearly bashfully, she lowered her gaze and twisted her fingers in nervous knots.

"Well, she seems worth the effort after all, Mr. Pollack," Wood slurred, pretending to still be drunk. "So deal the cards and let's get on with the game…time's wasting. I'd like to get on with my night with Miss Cavanaugh as soon as possible."

JD chuckled and dealt them both five cards.

* * *

It was the best out of five hands. JD won the first two. Woody wasn't sure if the crew was just letting JD win to keep that cocky self-confidence in tact, or if he wasn't picking up the signals the crew was giving.

The third hand went to Woody. He saw Jordan's fingers marginally unknot.

The fourth slid to his favor, too. It was tied now and the crowd gathering around the table grew larger. Jordan fingers relaxed a little more.

"Your boy may be pulling through for you, Rosebud," JD commented.

_Rosebud_. The name irked Jordan now as much as it had once thrilled her.

Now it just left her cold. And from the look in Woody's eyes, he didn't like it either. "Deal," he told JD in a flat voice.

"Hang in there, Hoyt. It ain't over until the fat lady sings…."

Woody took his cards and glanced around the room. Nigel was in the corner, not far away from Jordan. Bug was behind Pollack, but a decent distance away. All any passenger could tell was that the man was scoping the room, making sure it was safe. The nod Bug gave to Lily was barely perceptible. The singer began her next song in the key of G.

Woody doubled his bet.

Jordan's fingers went back into twisting themselves into knots.

"I'll take that bet and raise you five," JD responded confidently.

Woody nodded. JD showed his cards. Four of a kind. Jordan swallowed hard. Woody fanned his cards out on the table.

Straight flush. Woody was holding a straight flush.

JD blinked twice as the crowd broke out in applause. Jordan let out a breath she had been holding for the last five minutes.

Her boat was safe.

She was safer.

But it nearly all fell apart when JD made a sudden movement and pulled a revolver seemingly out of nowhere.

That was a no-no of course. All guns…all weapons … were checked at the door before the boat left the dock. They were locked up in the boat's safe. It was a matter of personal integrity that no card player have a weapon while the games were in progress. Sometimes tempers would flare…and it was just safer.

But JD had obviously waltzed around this rule. "The game….this game….you….it was rigged," he growled out to Woody.

Woody's hands went to reach for the ceiling. "Now Mr. Pollack," he began, trying to placate the New Englander. "Nothing was rigged. I won fair and square."

"I don't think so. The boat…her…they belong to me…" He made a lunge towards Jordan.

And all hell broke lose. Woody went for the derringer hidden in his waist coat about the same time Nigel pulled Jordan out of harm's way. Then from somewhere Bug appeared with a rifle, pointing it at JD's head. "If I were you," Bug ground out menacingly at Pollack, "I don't think I would move."


	9. Sleep With Me

**Chapter Nine**

**Sleep with Me**

"_So it was over then?" asked Lily, a note of reluctance in her voice. Nigel could tell a spell-binding story and she wasn't so sure he had missed his calling in life. Nigel was a criminalist, but he could easily have been a romance novelist._

"_Yeah… I mean, they've caught the bad guy and Jordan and her boat are safe…" Lu finished, squirming uncomfortably at the thought of her nemesis being the heroine of this story._

"_It's done? You all can come back inside and join the rest of us?" Brandeau asked. He had eventually wandered outside to find Lily and instead found himself as caught up as everyone else was in the tale Nigel was spinning._

_Nigel shook his head. "No. Not exactly. Remember we still have one helpless victim locked in a crypt and the good detective still has a reward to claim…" _

"_Reward?" Woody stammered. He had been trying to keep his eyes above Jordan's chin-level all night. But that low-cut bodice was making that and other things damn hard._

"_Yes…" Nigel's voice took on a silky tone. "A night with the boat's owner…doing whatever the detective wanted…"_

"_Come on," Bug rejoined. "He's the hero. Surely not…"_

"_He won it…" Nigel replied._

"_But not fair and square," Bug countered._

"_He still won it," Nigel continued, stubbornly. "He risked his neck to keep her and the boat safe."_

_From the corner, Garret sighed. "Okay, Nige. Get on with the story. Just…keep the details at a PG rating..."_

"_No..." Nigel answered, his voice still silky. "This is my story…."_

* * *

Everything else happened too quickly for Jordan to process. JD had tipped the table over to try to throw Woody off balance, so that he could make a run for it, but it didn't work. Bug had pressed the end of the rifle to JD's back and forced him to his knees.

After that it didn't take long for a little persuasive questioning from the Pinkerton detective to get the rest of the information from JD. The man sang like a New England Bufflehead. The _Delta Marker _chugged ahead to the next stop where a search party organized by Woody, Matt Seely, Nigel, and Bug found Lu and freed her from the crypt.

Then Woody headed back to town to wake the sheriff and get Garret out of jail.

By midnight, the invited gamblers were off her boat and life as Jordan knew it, was returning to normal. Garret was back, Matt and Lu were safely ensconced in the honeymoon suite, and Nigel and Bug had retired. Only she was left awake, walking the decks, unable to sleep. Woody hadn't come back to the boat with Garret. Jordan imagined he may have stayed to talk to the sheriff a little longer and to make sure charges were properly drawn up against JD.

Or he may have left the boat for good.

That thought bothered her and her heart fell a little with the notion. Pushing a lock of her hair back with a shaky hand, she headed back to her cabin, hoping to gain a little rest with what was left of the night when a shadow fell over her shoulder and onto her door. It didn't take a Pinkerton to identify the broad physique.

"Woody…" She turned to face him.

This time his dimpled grin was sincere. "Hey. I just came by for a card game…" he joked. "The kind like you and Nigel have…" There was a point to the last comment.

Silently she opened the door to her stateroom and let him enter before she glided in after him and shut and locked the door. "It's over?" she asked quietly, her leaning back against the wall.

"Yeah. It's over. Completely. JD and his nefarious partner admitted to the murders. No doubt in a week or two New Orleans' justice will do its civic duty and both men will find themselves at the short end of a long rope, twisting in the Bayou breeze."

Jordan felt a shudder run through her. Death was not something she wished on anyone. Even JD. She had seen too much of it in her short life. She took a deep breath and fought to compose herself.

"It's okay, Jordan." He was at her side then, gently tucking an errant curl back behind her ear. "It's okay…it's over. You don't have to stay and watch anything…Garret's back and he's been completely cleared…Everything should get back to normal…"

But she was still struggling andWoody saw that. Miss Cavanaugh may be many things…most of which people saw her as wasn't true…but the fact that she did try to do the right thing and make sure justice was rendered didn't go unnoticed by him.

However, a one-time-time-lover-turned-murderer…who could have easily come after you… it was no wonder she was having a hard time processing everything. He needed to snap her out of this before she ended up in puddle at his feet. "It is over now," he repeated. "And now that I am as good as 'co-owner' of this boat, you better stay out of trouble…."

"Co-owner…."

"Remember, I won the game…"

"Ah… yes…now I remember…."

Woody chuckled. His tactic had worked. She was snapping out of the dark reflections she had been dealing with. "So you'd better be good or I'll come back and take over the boat…" He grinned through his words to let her know he was teasing.

"You will?" Jordan still blinking back into reality, looking at him with puzzled eyes.

"Not really…" he replied softly. "It was a joke, Jordan. To get you to laugh. To make you realize this whole thing is over." Somehow his fingers had never got untangled from her hair.

She sucked in a breath. "Well, like you said, you won the game. I guess the boat is partially yours….as well as me. For a night."

Woody's fingers froze. "No…Jordan…I was _joking_. I don't own one square inch of this boat…or one square inch of you…not for a night, an hour, or a minute."

"You mean you find me unattractive." She pushed away from him and the wall, walking across the room to stand in front of the bed.

"What? No..."

"Then you want me for a night…"

Woody struggled for a moment. Want was blending with need and it was all getting tossed around with reality. "No…."

"You don't want me for a night, then. Why? Am I not good enough for you?" She sat down on the edge of the feather tick with grace, spreading her skirts out around her. "I mean, I know what everyone says about me…I'm a lady with a reputation…so you can't soil your hands…and other parts of you with me?"

"It's not that…and yes, I know your _reputation_. I also know that's just a front. I'm not going to make you my mistress for a night just because I won a thrown card game."

"It was a gambling debt, Mr. Hoyt. Made with my full knowledge and consent. And I expect you to pick up your winnings."

"Jordan…"

"I will not be in debt to anyone, Mr. Hoyt. And I am up to ears in my debt to you. I owe you my boat and ….my body."

"It was a thrown game. And you _risked_ your boat and your well-being to help us catch a killer."

"Who was ultimately after me. If it wasn't for me…none of this ever would have happened…" Her voice caught, broke, and trailed off.

"No…" He was at her side on the bed in half a heartbeat. "It's not your fault. You had nothing to do with JD and what he did."

"But if I hadn't let him sweet talk me all those years ago…" She looked up in his face for some kind of response. Resolution? Retribution? Absolution? She wasn't sure.

"You were young."

"But I should have known better….especially after….I have always known I should never trust gamblers…not real gamblers, anyway." Her fingers went back to tying themselves in knots like they did during the card game. Woody gently put his hands over hers. She had slipped up. Now he was going to get at the crux of the matter.

"After what, Jordan?"

Another shudder. "After Jim…after…"

"Jim?" he gently prodded, encouraging her to go on.

"Gentleman Jim. My guardian."

A sick thought flickered through Woody's mind. "Your guardian…" Surely this man didn't…

He heard her suck in a breath. "Jim…Gentleman Jim….was a riverboat gambler. A very good one. I was ten…when my parents…After…after my parents died, there wasn't any family to take me in. No one wanted me…."

Woody felt his heart break a little as he began to put her nearly incoherent sentences together. He could see a parentless, ten year-old Jordan…dark brown braids hanging down her back…with no one to turn to. "Go on," he prompted.

"Jim was a good friend of my father's. He took me in…raised me on this boat. He was a good man…a kind man…until…." Jordan shut her eyes at the memory. But this game tonight with her as a potential marker had dredged up all the feelings of an abused sixteen year-old girl. "Until there was a high stakes invitation-only poker game on this boat. Jim had nothing left to wager but the boat or me. So…" her voice caught and she struggled to regain her emotional footing.

"He wagered you." Woody's voice was flat, although he struggled to keep it that way. The bile was rising in his throat. Whoever and wherever this Jim was, Woody vowed to get retribution for her.

"And he lost….I lost…" She pulled her hands out from under Woody's and hid her face in them. "It was awful… At the end…when it was over…the man threw me out of his room…said I was about as common as they come….and called me a whore."

"Jordan.." Woody was torn between shaking her until she didn't believe those cutting comments or just taking her in his arms and holding her. The lady in this room was very different than the lady that made her daily appearances on the boat. Vulnerable. Needing someone to hold her and just tell her everything was fine…she was fine…wonderful, even.

"It's okay…" the hands came down from her eyes and sought Woody's again. "That was a long time ago. A long time ago." She shook her head. "But that's how I met up with Nigel, actually. He found me…after….took me back to his stateroom, gave me some brandy, and helped me calm down. Then he simply….stayed on the _Marker_. He's been my protector ever since."

"Jim?" He had to ask. He needed to know. Did the gambler simply hand over the boat to Jordan as an act of penitence?

"Dead. He died shortly afterwards from Yellow Fever."

Woody was quiet for a moment as the weight of her story settled in on him. A young girl, her innocence ripped from her in a most brutal way…and then the shame she obviously endured afterwards…and maybe still did.

Tonight dredged it all back up again for her. She had been made a gambling marker once more, and in her mind, it was still a debt she had to pay. For all the bravado she was now putting on, Woody knew she was torn. In Jordan's mind, she had been made fodder for man's crudeness once again by JD, someone she had at one time trusted…just like she had Jim.

But she also felt she had a debt to repay. And Woody knew in Jordan's mind, she wasn't sure which was worse. He would have to proceed very carefully.

"So like I said, I should have known better, but I didn't…which brings me back to where we are now, Mr. Hoyt." She stood, and put her fingers to the laces on the back of her dress. "I am yours. For one night. Anyway you chose. As many times as you chose." She untied the bow and began to wrestle with the bodice of her dress with nearly numb fingers.

And felt herself jump when Woody's fingers covered hers and gently pulled them away as he began to free her from the laces himself, finally pushing the bodice to her waist before turning her around to face him. She was beautiful and the chemise she had on underneath her burgundy beaded dress did nothing to hide the curve of her breasts or the pinkness of her taunt nipples. He swallowed hard. "Anyway I want?"

Jordan nodded, finding herself searching his blue eyes for answers to that question. But they were hooded and dark and told her nothing.

"Take your hair down."

The command was curt and gruff. Hesitantly she reached for the pins that held her hair, and pulled them and the ostrich feathers out of her chestnut curls, shaking her head so that her hair spread around her shoulders.

"Your dress. Take it off."

Jordan's fingers found the last two hooks on the skirt of the dress and popped them open, letting the beaded, burgundy creation fall to the floor, leaving her in only her chemise, which fell to the tops of her thighs, and her stockings that were held up by two lacy garters.

"Get in the bed."

She took a deep breath and obediently began to pull down the coverlet, all the while hearing him undress behind her. She crawled in the bed and lay down, waiting for the inevitable. At least she knew he could kiss…from his exploits in front of JD…when she wished it had been just him and her in that room…she knew he could kiss.

Woody turned down the kerosene lights. The room went pitch black. She felt the covers shift and slide and the feather tick give as he got in beside her.

And nearly jumped out of her skin when his arm slid across her middle, turning her on her side, her back to his chest. He pulled her up close next to him and his lips found her ear. "Good night, Jordan."

She stiffened. "Good night?"

"Yeah. Good night."

"But…"she fairly stuttered the word. "You…won…I….anything…"

"I know. _Anything I chose_. And this is I what I chose. One night…with you…snuggled up beside me while I sleep."

"But…"

"It's what I chose. I'm tired. You're tired. It's been a hell of a day…let's get some rest."

"But…."

"Shh….good night."


	10. If We Go There, We Go There Together

**Chapter Ten**

**We Go There Together**

The sounds of faint bells and whistles woke Jordan the next morning.

That and the sound of a something thudding beneath her ear. For a moment she was confused, and couldn't remember exactly how she had gotten here…and why she was in bed with her chemise and garters and stockings on and nothing else.

Or why her pillow was beating beneath her head.

Or why it was so hard.

Then she remembered. The gambling debt. Woody. He had chose to spend his one night with her just cuddled next to his side, sleeping. At some point during the night, she had rolled over and made his body her mattress. Her head was pillowed on his chest and the rest of her body was sprawled over his, with one of her legs very possessively thrown over his thigh.

She glanced up at his face. He was still asleep and looked endearingly boyish with his hair mussed in a half a dozen directions and the lines on his face relaxed. Jordan fought the desire to run her fingers through his messy hair.

And deliberately tried to quell the tingling in her body that was arising due to her precarious position. She now knew that it wasn't Woody she hadn't trusted from the first time she had seen him…it was her _reaction_ to him that had had her rankled.

More specifically her _body's_ reaction to him that bothered her. After her fiasco with JD, she had vowed to _never_ let another man affect her so.

She needed to move. To get off of him now.

But something in her sleep-lazed mind didn't prompt her to move despite the fact her conscience was prodding her to do that very thing. It was still very early…not even light outside yet. She figured, if she ignored that little voice in her head long enough, it would go away. She clamped her eyes shut and unconsciously tightened her hold on him.

"Mmmnnth." That action caused him to begin to rouse from his sleep. She froze, holding her breath and praying he'd doze back off…allowing her to get up and get her morning gown on, if nothing else.

_Like she really wanted to…no…staying here in his arms sounded much better. Felt better too. Felt better than anything else she had experienced in a long…_

"Good morning." His voice rumbled over the top of her head.

"Good morning," she echoed back, hoping her voice just sounded like she just woke up, instead of the breathlessness she detected.

"Did you sleep well?" His hand began to do lazy sweeps down her back.

"Yes. Did you?"

"Very." He chanced a glance down at her only to find her looking back up at him. Her eyes were wary, but they weren't cold. It looked like they were waiting for her to breathe. "Thank you," he murmured.

"For what?"

"For letting me have my one night with you."

She chuckled, the sound reverberating through her and him both. "If that was what you chose…just to sleep with me, then you're welcome."

He raised one eyebrow. "I should have chosen something else?" It was a question, not a statement.

"Let's just say, it wasn't what I was expecting."

He laughed then, a sound that nearly grated her. Indignant, she tried to sit up, but got no further than just propping on her elbow, his arm fastening tight around her waist. "You wanted something more?"

"I was expecting that _you_ wanted something more."

Woody stopped laughing then. "Who says I didn't? You're a beautiful woman, Jordan Cavanaugh…and so much more than anyone thinks…but the fact is, I'm not going to have sex with you because of a gambling debt. If you _chose_ to give yourself to me, it will be because you want to…not because you owe it to me. And not because you feel you have to." He held her brown eyes in a steady gaze with his blue.

"But you wanted it…you wanted me…" she said in a small voice.

"I never denied that."

"But I don't understand…"

"Jordan, if anything happens between us, it will be because we both want it. Not because of anything else." His eyes echoed what she had read in them last light at the poker tournament. _If we go there, we're going there together._

She gulped. Technically, she had paid her debt to him. He had the option of having her for one night and one night only…anything he wanted…as many times as he chose. Instead of taking advantage of her, he had simply held her close and slept with her in his arms all night.

Her debt had been paid. Now, if she wanted something more from Woody, it would be cause _she_ wanted it. _She _chose it.

For the first time, it would be because it was _her_ decision. The sex wouldn't be forced and it wouldn't be used to try to coerce or trick her into doing something she didn't want to do.

It would, in every sense, be different.

It would, in every sense, be making love. And that was something Jordan didn't think she had ever done before. She looked deep in his eyes once again, his blue eyes still holding her brown ones in a steady gaze. He was waiting on her to make up her mind.

He was waiting on her to make the first move.

Tentatively she leaned down and brushed her lips against his, lightly caressing them, then teasing them with the tip of her tongue until he opened his mouth for her. Hesitantly, she pulled her body over his again, angling her mouth to explore his better…tracing the outline of his mouth with her tongue, then teasing his into play.

It was then that Woody took action. The hand that had been behind his head while they were talking came down and gently cradled her head, and the other one tightened around her waist even more, pulling her closer, but not so close that she couldn't roll off him if she changed her mind.

But from the way she was holding on to him, that wasn't likely to happen. Woody chanced to open his eyes and roll them towards the window of her stateroom. No light out yet. Plenty of time before she had to be up and at her duties…and he …he…

Damn.

He knew he had to leave the _Marker_ today. His case was closed and Allan would be calling him back into the office.

But meanwhile, he was enjoying the series of long, slow, wet kisses that were growing increasingly more passionate by the minute. Especially that last one when she nipped his lower lip and was now feathering kisses around his mouth, teasing him…taunting him to find her lips once again.

With one swift motion he did, and rolled her beneath him at the same time. He pulled back from her then, carefully scrutinizing her face. Her eyes were smoky, pupils dilated. He lowered his mouth to hers and with one hand gently untied the tiny ribbon that held her chemise up and pushed it down and out of the way. "You're beautiful," he murmured in her ear, softly kissing below her lobe and along her jaw line, down the column of her throat, to that hollow between her breasts.

"Thank you." A breathless response.

He swallowed a chuckle and turned his attention to a taunt, pink nipple, gently running his tongue around it before he drew it into his mouth. Her low moan and the feel of her hands in his hair, keeping his head close, let him know that was the right move. After awhile, he turned his attention to the other one.

Another low moan was his reward. And the feel of her squirming beneath him. He drew back then, sitting back on his heels.

And caught his breath. With that long chestnut hair spread out on the pillows and her in nothing but her stockings, Jordan Cavanaugh had just made every fantasy that had rocked his Midwest values come true. He untied her garters and slowly, seductively slid each silk stocking off her hopelessly long legs. Then he gently caressed her center with his thumb.

Her hiss of pleasure echoed around the room. Smiling to himself, he just as leisurely slipped on finger into her. A gasp and she bucked against him. Satisfied he was pleasuring her in a way no one else had, he slid another finger inside with the first and bent over her again, finding her nipple one more time with his mouth.

_God_….was the last coherent thing Jordan thought as the sensations Woody was producing in her body took over. She writhed against the sheets, her hands searching for something to hold onto to hold her steady in her rapidly shifting world. She gasped again when he angled his fingers into a curve.

That was the last thing she remembered for several long moments as her body shuddered repeatedly and from behind her closed eyes she saw stars and felt the blood pounding in her veins. But the feel of his lips on hers brought her back to the present. No man had done that for her…to her. She opened her eyes languidly, searching for his blue ones. "Woody…" she said on a sigh.

His response was to lace the fingers of both of her hands with his, holding them on both sides of her head. Then nudging her knees a bit further apart, he slid into her, capturing her mouth in another long, wet kiss at the same time.

Her body responded on its own. What he was doing to her…she didn't want to stop. She'd give her boat and everything on it, if time could just stand still and they could just go on like this forever.

But of course, forever could only last until the sun's rays found their way through the window of her stateroom.

* * *

Three 

He had taken her to three mind-blowing climaxes before he had his own. Jordan had clung to him and let her body respond, vaguely aware of calling his name out during the last one, and his lips having to cover hers before someone heard.

Now he was simply holding her, his fingers trailing through her long, chestnut curls as they both were willing the sun to move a little slower.

But it wasn't happening. "I have to go," he murmured.

"I know," she answered just as softly.

Woody reluctantly left her arms and put on his pants before he held a hand out to her to help her from the bed. While he fussed with the buttons on his shirt, Jordan put back on her chemise and stockings and found a day gown. Woody once again stilled her fingers as they reached for the buttons on the back of her dress. He buttoned her up, all the while laying soft kisses around the back of her neck. When he was finished, he turned her around. "I have to get off at the next stop…"

Jordan nodded. She assumed as much. Last night was just….last night. A treasured memory she would pull out to remember when she was lonely. She never expected it to be anything more. "I know. And I have duties I have to attend to…"

"It's still early. I can slip out now before anyone notices that we were together last night."

She looked him square in the eyes. "I'm not ashamed of what happened." She cast an eye at the rumpled bed linens, that now smelled of both of them. "I don't want you slinking out of my cabin like what we did last night was wrong. It wasn't. It was…wonderful."

His dimpled smile in response to her comment made her knees melt and Jordan thought for a split second that if Woody asked her to leave the boat with him, she would gladly turn her back on the _Marker_ and go with him.

But he wouldn't do that. He couldn't. Just like last night…where she made the decision to give herself to him…she would have to make the decision to change her life in other areas, too. Without influence from him or anyone else.

"I'm glad you think so…because so do I," he whispered before he pulled her into one last long, wet kiss and opened the door to leave. With a tip of hat, he continued. "I hope to see you again, Jordan Cavanaugh."

And he was gone. He was off the boat and on shore before she had a chance to finish her morning duties and see him again. The only thing she had left to remember him by was that one night and his handkerchief he had left behind on her stateroom floor.


	11. Soadsuds and Duckies and Change

**Chapter Eleven**

**Soadsuds and Duckies and Change**

Jordan smiled to herself as she watched Garret and Nigel carry the last of her trunks down the plank and onto a waiting flatbed. She only had three, as her worldly possessions weren't many.

But the memories of that old steamboat…ah, those…they were so numerous she would need a dozen flatbeds to carry them if they had to be packed in trunks.

Jordan was selling the _Delta Marker_. She never thought she would, but the past two years had brought so many changes to the Mississippi and her that now it just seemed like the most logical choice.

And not nearly as painful as she thought it would be.

She had clung to that boat and the memory of what Woody had given her for two years. He had given her so much more than one night of pleasure…he had shown her that she had options for her life and had the right to exercise those options on her own…not because she owed anybody anything.

So when the riverboat enterprise began slowing down as railroad travel became faster and more convenient, she re-thought her conviction that she would never sell the boat. And as business kept falling off, it became clear to her and the rest of the crew that it was only a matter of time before life as they had known it would have to change.

Jordan's smile kicked up a little more as she thought about those changes. After years of playing around with each other, Bug and Lily had finally connected. Jordan had had the joy of letting the two get married on her boat a week ago. The first…and last … wedding she would host on the _Marker_. They had settled down at the last stop, Bug purchasing a general store. They would run it and begin a family there in that small town.

Nigel had decided to give up his long-running career as a sharp. The tenor of the times was changing and sharps were beginning to take on a more nefarious role on the river, not that Nigel himself was fulfilling one of those roles. But he was finding himself out of a job…in more than one way. As her encounter with Woody had given Jordan more and more self-confidence, Nigel discovered his role as her protector was becoming nonexistent.

However, his role as her friend was more important than ever. He would be disembarking on the boat with her, hoping to find a job that required his stellar memorization skills. Jordan was sure he'd be fine. And a lot safer away from a deck of cards.

Garret….Garret was the one she was most surprised at. After his arrest under the suspicion of killing Natalie, he had sobered up. Immediately and cold-turkey. For the next two years, he was a diligent and clear-headed employee.

And one that evidently saved his money. When Jordan announced she was going to sell the boat, he wanted to buy it and had the cash to back up his offer. Garret and a man who called himself Samuel Langhorne Clemmons were in cahoots on several business deals, one of which included her boat. Jordan shook her head. She liked Mr. Clemmons well enough, he was an amusing man that could spin a great story…but a man that looked like he needed a good haircut.

"Is that it?" Garret asked, bringing her back into reality, brushing his hands down the sides of his pants.

"That's it." She extended her hand to him, but Garret caught her up in a tight hug. "You be good," she whispered in a choked voice over his shoulder. "And take damn good care of my boat…or I'll come back and take it."

"I will. You just…go find your life, Jordan. Go live it. Enjoy it. The _Marker_ will always dock in New Orleans. If you need to talk, or need to get back on the river…"

"I know. And thanks." One more hug and she slipped from his embrace and walked down the plank herself, taking Nigel's arm. "New Orleans on land…I can't remember the last time I was actually on land here…"

"I believe it was at Jim's funeral…"

"I believe it was."

"You started over then…and you will now, love. You were a success then and you will be a success now."

"I sure hope so."

"You will be. Forgive me," he slipped away from her, "I need to stop in the post office and see if I can establish a box for us…"

"That's fine, Nige…I'll wait right here for you."

"Stay out of trouble," he warned.

"I will.." her voice trailed off as Nigel went into the post office to rent a box for the both of them. She stood on the wooden sidewalk and watched the citizens of New Orleans go by for a second when something caught her unawares.

"That seems highly doubtful," a voice said from behind her.

And she froze. She never thought she'd hear that teasing accent again. It had been two years.

"Woody…" she breathed, slowly turning to face him.

"It seems highly doubtful because if I remember correctly, Miss Cavanaugh, trouble seemingly has a way of following you right down this river." He smiled at her and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the side of the post office.

Two years. It had been two long years since he had left her that hot Mississippi morning.

And discreetly followed her from a distance ever since. Allan had thought Woody had totally lost his mind when he had asked to be in charge of the Pinkerton's New Orleans field office. Completely and totally lost his mind to the heat and mosquitoes… gone totally loco.

But Woody had persisted and Allan finally gave in. Woody had known each and every time _The Marker_ had docked in New Orleans. However, he discreetly kept his distance, contacting only Nigel when the boat came to the city to see how Jordan was doing…if she was safe…if she needed anything. Nigel had kept him informed of the changes going on in Jordan's life and the changes in her…how she was craving stability and somewhere to call home other than the boat.

Woody wanted those decisions to be all her own, with no influence from anyone, including him. Despite the fact he missed her so badly he could feel her in his veins.

So when Jordan had decided to sell the _Marker_ and find a place to put down roots, it had been Nigel that suggested New Orleans. She had agreed. Nigel had immediately telegraphed Woody.

Woody had a feeling, if Lady Luck continued to run his way, he and Jordan would be naming their first born after the Brit.

"Trouble does not follow me, Mr. Hoyt," she replied with as much dignity as she could muster over her sheer joy of seeing him again. "But," she continued with her eyes narrowing, "I have this distinct feeling that _you_ have been."

"Maybe. Maybe I have. So?" he challenged.

Jordan could contain her happiness no longer. "So…" she responded, reaching out to take his arm, "suddenly I have this intense desire to play poker…with a very interesting wager you may want to hear about."

* * *

_Nigel's voice trailed off, the dark and quiet of the Boston night swallowing up his last words as he came to the end of his story and his listeners slowly found their way back to the twenty-first century._

"_The end?" asked Brandeau._

"_The end," Nigel responded firmly._

"_But you never told us if the hero and heroine really get together," Jordan protested, speaking for the first time in hours. Truthfully, Nigel had her imagination so wrapped up in the story that she didn't want it to end. Did the two get married? Settle down? Start a family? "I want my 'and they lived happily ever after'," she said, pouting just a little._

"_Ah love…but there's the beauty of the ending. You can write your own. Whatever you want to happen to them…will happen," Nigel concluded, standing and stretching. "And I see I finished my story just in time. We're back at the docks."_

_Everyone stood then and Jordan noticed that it was Nigel and not Woody that extended his hand to Lu and helped her from the boat. A few minutes later, she also noticed that Nigel had a passenger on the back of his motorcycle and Woody was walking her back to her El Camino._

"_That Nigel…that was a great story, huh?" he asked, taking the keys out of her hand and opening the truck door for her._

"_It was. I think he missed his calling…he should have been a novelist," she answered, reluctant to get in her vehicle and leave him. "But I'm sorry he left with your date…"_

_Woody startled. "Date? Lu? Oh, it wasn't a date. She's still kind of new in town and didn't know exactly where this place was. I just offered her a ride. That's all, Jordan."_

_His blue eyes were telling her the truth. Ruefully she remembered the heroine of the story…the one that had the guts to plan her own future without worrying about what others wanted her to do. Screwing on her courage and taking a deep breath, she asked, "Hey…it's still kind of early. Want to come over for a drink or a cup of coffee? I mean we can't exactly go anywhere else dressed like…this." She ran her hands down her hoop skirt, not quite hating it as much as she had earlier this evening. _

"_Coffee sounds good." He helped her and her skirts into the truck. "Can I ask you a kind of personal question, Jordan?"_

_Jordan narrowed her eyes. "How personal?"_

_Woody cleared his throat and tried to ignore the blush creeping into his cheeks. "That skirt…I've been wondering all night…although I've tried not to…what exactly do you wear under those things?"_

_Grinning, Jordan held up her skirts to her waist._

"_Soapsuds and duckies?" he asked in an incredulous voice._

"_You were expecting Fredrick's of Hollywood?"_

"_No…" The blush had taken over his cheeks. "Not at all…I was just…wondering…I mean…that dress…"_

_Jordan chuckled. "Tell you what, Farm Boy. You spring for the Guinness on the way to my place and I'll rummage up my deck of cards. I have a sudden urge to play poker…"_


End file.
